Darksiders: Last of the Third Kingdom
by Jarl of the North
Summary: When War was doing battle against the forces of Heaven and Hell alike in the EndWar, things were already going from bad to worse by the minute. When he is brought before the Charred Council, things can't seem to get much worse for the Horseman. But what happens when a young boy - the last of the Third Kingdom, no less - is thrown into the mix? Rated T may change to M later.
1. Everything Falls Apart

All right. First Chapter of my first story. Please go easy on me, I'm still not used to this. Thanks!

I do not own Darksiders. How I wish I did.

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BLAKE

I passed on through the back alleys as I walked on without aim, side by side with Leon and Cross, the only two people in New York, no, the only two people in the world that I trusted. We'd just gone through a dumpster looking for food with zero luck; everything we found was rotted to the point of inedibility, and all of our never-fail spots that were sure to have food of some kind had just recently – like two seconds before we arrived recently – been emptied.

"Well, this sucks," Leon muttered, grabbing at his malnourished stomach, his long, bleach blond hair flashing as he grated his teeth. A good two inches taller than I was, Leon was tall and lanky in build, and his lack of proper nourishment made it seem even more so as his skin was forced to stretch like elastic over his bones; whenever his stained white shirt was removed, you could easily count his ribs, and his collar bone stuck out like the edge of a cliff face. His face was one of annoyance as his bright green eyes narrowed, naturally convulsing in the hunger pains that were evident only when his eyes slit and his jaw set involuntarily.

"Oh, did that just occur to you, Leon?" Cross growled, setting his bloodshot gray eyes on Leon, his long blackened hair recently singed from when he tried to save something from our previous hideout when it burned down. Just as underfed as Leon, he was another inch taller than our bleach-haired friend, with an average build but was all the same nearly impossible to bring down in a fight based on physical strength. Though he had what me and Leon didn't – muscle – it came at the price of his body's energy, giving him a larger appetite than either of us and making him sleep a lot more as well.

"No. As a matter of fact, it didn't, Cross," Leon shot back.

"Oh, well, look at Mr. Sherlock here. Look out guys. Leon may not look like the sharpest tool in the shed, but when things get down to it-"

"Why don't you shut up and shove it up your-"

"Guys!" I shouted, cutting them both off before they could continue. I turned to them, my own lightly coloured hair whipping about. Despite the fact that I was barely five foot six, I could still look and feel threatening when I felt like it, "could you two please stop? I am not in a good mood, and we're all hungry. So instead of putting our energy into fighting with each other, could we please put it into finding food? That would be great."

"He has a point," Cross raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, he does," Leon stepped forwards, "you're right, Blake. Standing here fighting won't fill our stomachs."

I smiled grimly, "yeah. Let's go."

We exited the alley and moved out into the streets, going towards a nearby fast-food restaurant as we checked how much money we had. I stopped, looking up at one of the massive electric screens that would normally be showing advertisement after advertisement after advertisement, to see instead a news broadcaster giving out an announcement, showing the locations of hundreds, thousands of meteor showers all over the world with footage of the resulting wreckage.

"Ya think it's true?" Cross asked.

"Doubt it. Meteors don't destroy buildings," Leon smirked, shaking his head at what he obviously considered to be an attempt at getting attention.

I was about to agree when I caught sight of something falling from the sky. Coated in flame, approaching at an impossible speed, and absolutely _massive, _the thing sped towards us for a long five seconds before smashing into a skyscraper. The towering… well, tower crumbled under the force of the meteor, flattening everything beneath it and pretty much blocking off all northern exits out of Time Square.

"I think you've just been proven wrong, Leon!" I shouted as we bolted in the opposite direction of the now countless meteors that filled the skies, forcing our way through the stampeding crowds all at once in an attempt to stay together.

"I can see that!" Leon glanced back for only an instant before sprinting even faster, his eyes wide and his face pale, "whatever either of you do, do _NOT_ look back!" he shrieked.

"Why not?" Cross snorted, his day clearly having been ruined as he became our bulldozer, shoving people out of the way to make a path for me and Leon.

"Those were _NOT_ meteors!"

Just then one of the smaller meteors impacted about twenty feet in front of us, crushing about fifteen people and sending another twenty to their deaths from the impact. Having been lucky, me, Leon, and Cross had been thrown backwards on top of a mass of both living and dead people, cushioning our fall and saving us some broken limbs. As we forced ourselves to our feet, something caught my eye. A silhouette about the size of a tiger climbed out of the crater, its features obscured by the smoke and dust. But judging from the impossibly skinny outline and the unnatural baying sounds it was giving off, I sincerely doubted it was some kind of escaped animal.

Even as we backed away, the shadow leaped out of the dust and smoke to reveal its body. Its flesh a mixture of sickly, pale, rotting skin and bleeding veins, it reared its hideous, eyeless, suspiciously human-like head and unleashed an ear-splitting shriek from its lipless, oversized jaws, its thin, whip-like tail lashing about wildly in excitement as the massive muscles in its shoulders rippled, and its skeletal body twitching like hell. I heard other screams, some human screams of pain and fear, others unearthly shrieks of recognition and acknowledgement. I understood instantly. Their hunt had begun.

And we humans were the prey.

"Who votes that we run?" Cross asked unnecessarily.

"I don't know about you guys, but I sure as hell do!" Leon turned and bolted.

"Let's go, Cross! This is a fight I'm not sure we can win!" I grabbed onto him, chasing after Leon. The only reason he ran was because he knew we'd follow. We have an unspoken rule in our group, but one we all pledged to; we protect our own. We stand beside one another until the very end, and we never give up. Under absolutely no circumstance are any of us to break this rule. Under no circumstance are we to abandon one another, and under no circumstance are we to give up or sacrifice ourselves for the sake of the others. We either all survive, or none of us survive. It's that simple.

We clambered over and around our obstacles with ease, body, stone, vehicle, and "bait" (i.e. gang members) alike – we'd been training for life or death situations for years, ever since we first met one another. Sure, we were malnourished, but we were still strong, still fast, still in better shape than most of the North American population. But for all it was worth, we could not shake the monstrosity that chased after us, now having two of its misshapen friends join it to bring us down. Turning down a back alley (a stupid move on our part), we found ourselves trapped in a dead end with the only way out being covered by franken-doggies.

We glanced at one another. Staying true to our law, we decided that if flight wasn't an option, then we'd fight our way out. Cross slowly began to relax as we faced our would-be killers, his muscles loosening as the bones in his neck and spine popped back into their proper places, as he crouched into his normal hand to hand stance, cracking his knuckles and drawing a large, gold-coloured piece of metal that fit onto the fingers of his right hand like a set of rings – brass knuckles. Leon, true to his style, reached slowly into his pockets, and drew them back out, holding onto several throwing knives as he widened his stance, his eyes searching for any opportunity to get to higher ground or to throw his knives. And as for me, I reached up the back of my shirt, and from a hidden sheath, drew a long, curved knife, the blade alone over a foot long as it reflected the sunlight. My pride and joy, it was one of the few things I kept constantly clean and well maintained, sharpening it every few days to ensure it didn't lose its edge.

"You see these, bitches?" Cross asked as we each held out our weapons. Despite the fact that they didn't have eyes, they seemed excited to see that not only were we going to fight, but we also had weapons to wound them.

"I don't really care what you are. If you want us dead, you're going to have to fight for it!" I dashed forwards, and the first of the three demon dogs leaped towards me, acidic green spittle flying from its jaws as it continued to drool with the anticipation of tasting my blood. At the last second, I dodged to the side and tried to stab it underneath the ribs. Sensing my intentions, the demon dog leaped sideways as it landed, pulling itself away from my knife and scrabbling for traction on the concrete as it continued to face off with me in a silent standoff.

_It dodged me… damn… I don't know what this thing is, but… it's fast. I'm actually impressed,_ I grinned as the thought raced through my head, happy to have my first challenge in months. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the other two hellhounds pounce, about to land on me, their fangs and stubby claws gleaming with bloodlust, _AWW CRAP!_

Suddenly a dark blur shot past me, bludgeoning one of the hounds and sending it flying into the wall, while the other one twisted in midair, losing control and crashing against the asphalt, whimpering as it clawed at its skull, attempting to remove the knives that had embedded themselves in its forehead.

Cross stood across from the one he'd punched through the air, seething with rage, "you can ruin my day with lack of food, insomnia, and meteors that fall from the sky, destroying everything they land on," he snarled as the hound righted itself, dark red blood spewing from a new crack in the side of its head, "but the instant you threaten my friends, you. Have. Signed. Your. Own. God. Damn. Death warrant!" He brought his brass knuckles up to eye-level, the normally golden metal painted red by the creature's blood.

Leon twirled his knives about as he got his demon's attention, "hey ugly," he shouted. The thing reared its head as he threw two more knives, these ones impaling it in its gaunt, skeletal chest, right between its visible ribs. It howled as Leon continued "you're fighting me, not Blake. You're going to fight fairly, and you are going to like it. You understand me, rot face?" another howl of pain as more knives entered its body, though Leon still had the same amount in his hand. I sometimes have to wonder how many of those he keeps hidden on his body.

"Thanks for the save, guys!" I dodged another flying leap from the now enraged hellhound before me.

"No problem. Just focus on your own monster!" Cross grunted as he blocked a slash from his hellhound with his arm. He wobbled for a moment, then fell to his knees, gritting his teeth as he gripped his arm. The demon howled with its perceived triumph, but as it approached to deliver the final blow, Cross lashed out, bringing his brass knuckles down on the back of its neck and sending it face-first into the pavement. The thing began to thrash as Cross proceeded to pin it down and beat on its head, smashing his fists into its skull again and again until there was nothing but a gory mess of bone and blood before a hideous, headless body.

I grimaced as I dodged another leap from my demon. Under normal circumstances, we would try to avoid killing until it became a choice between our lives and theirs. But then, they were dead serious about killing us, and they weren't exactly human. _So I guess that rule goes out the window,_ I thought, continuing to play matador to the demon, waiting for a chance to lash out. I kept a constant, cautious distance as I memorized its attack pattern. Target, coil, pounce, land, repeat. All within a few seconds, most of it in midair during the pounce. There were multiple points in the process where the thing let down its guard. Now, when would be my kill point…?

The thing raced at me, entering into yet another leap as it prepared to bite my head off. Time slowed to a crawl as I sidestepped, the thing inches to my right in midair.

…_Now!_

While it was still in the air I spun so the thing was to my left, grabbed onto the back of its head and smashed it into the ground. Ending up on its underbelly because I'd forced it down faster than it anticipated, it struggled to rise as I got onto its back, stabbing my knife into it again and again, making it buckle in pain as I stuck the blade into the thing's nerve endings and joints. When I'd finally forced it down again, I stabbed my knife into the back of the thing's neck, effectively ending its life in a massive spray of blood as the blade sliced through its spinal column.

Even as I removed my knife from the bloody mess, Leon put his out of its misery as it whimpered like a wounded dog. Not surprising, considering how many knives stuck out of its flesh.

"I wonder how we're going to explain this," I scratched the back of my head as we looked ourselves over. Spattered from head to toe in blood, we looked like murderers from cheesy horror slasher films like Friday the Thirteenth.

"Um… I think we may not have to… for the most part," Leon pointed at something behind me. I turned to see the corpse of the demon dog I'd killed light aflame, burning itself down to cinders within a matter of seconds.

My gaze shot to the corpses of the other two. Cross' had already turned to ash and was currently being blown about in the wind, and Leon's was in the process of burning… taking his knives with it.

"Wait, what the… MY KNIVES!" he shrieked as it turned to ash, digging through the remaining cinders as he searched for them. As the wind blew away the ash, Leon threw up his hands in despair, "those were my best knives! Did I do something to offend you, God? Did I do something to wrong you in such a way that my knives had to be taken from me?"

"Come on, Leon," Cross hoisted him up to his feet, "we have to get out of here. You can get new knives later. Better ones. Stronger, sharper, lighter. More accurate."

Leon gave him a skeptical look, then grumbled as we made our way back into the dusty, ruined streets. The sounds of screams and explosions filled the air, never ceasing as we checked the surrounding area.

"Judging from what's going on," Leon said, "I'd say what we just fought were demons."

"Demons?" Cross laughed, "come on, Leon. Don't be ridiculous."

"Oh, I'm being ridiculous now, am I?" Leon snapped, "take a look around you, Cross. You saw what those things in the alley were like. They weren't anything that could have come from this world. They came from a God damn meteor. They burned up after we killed them. They organized some kind of strategy to kill us off one at a time, so much more intelligent than dogs."

"Just because we don't know what caused that doesn't prove anythi-"

"And for another thing. Look up. The sky is choked up with dust and smoke and parts of it are on fire. There are giant, lava covered spikes jutting out of the ground. What does that tell you?"

Taking a look around, I saw that he was right. During our fight with the demon dogs, the landscape had undergone a drastic change of scenery. Buildings had been shattered, roads had been blocked off by towers of twisting rock and lava, and the sky… the sky was in a worse state than what human pollution could ever possibly do to it. Utterly covered with clouds that had been coloured a light yellow by the smoke, dust, and poisonous smog given off by certain parts of the city, the entire sky was slowly burning up; fire ate away sluggishly at bits and pieces of it as the meteors continued to fall.

I felt a small shockwave as a particularly large meteor landed about a hundred feet away from us as Cross and Leon continued to bicker. In the smoke, I saw a massive, almost draconic silhouette erect itself in the crater. I caught a glimpse of its figure as the smoke began to clear, and felt myself stiffen, "uh, guys?"

"What?" they shouted at the same time.

"If the demon hypothesis is true, then demons one, two and three were fairly easy to deal with," I pointed at the smoke as whatever the thing was began to step forth from the crater, "but demon number four is going to be a problem."

Almost immediately the beast emerged from the black clouds that had arisen around it. Giant twin blades adorned each of its massive, clawed wrists, and its huge bulk was supported by thick, strong legs that shook the earth whenever its feet hit the earth. The massive spikes that jutted out of its back were the same kind of twisted black rock that made up the towers. Chains decorated with human skulls wrapped around its body, and its massive head looked about as threatening as an atom bomb meant for melee use, its dark orange scales reflecting the colour of flame in the sunlight. It caught sight of us almost immediately, letting out a roar and charging towards us, ready to taste blood.

"I'm convinced," Cross wheezed weakly.

"I hate being right all the time," Leon muttered.

We bolted, trying to put as much distance between and that thing as possible, but to no avail; for every ten of our steps, the demon only had to take one. When the thing was about ten feet away from us, we heard the sickening sound of flesh ripping, and a roar of pain that was cut off by a choking sound, and it was evident that the demon had stopped chasing us.

Curiosity overpowered fear as we looked back, and saw the demon on one knee, coughing up blood as something stuck out of its chest, one of its arms ending in a bleeding stump. Before the demon, though, was a towering figure. His head and shoulders cloaked in red, his black and silver armour glinted in the sunlight. His left gauntlet was far larger than his right, a giant claw that gripped onto the demon's missing right hand. There was a long instant of silence before the man dropped the hand, gripped onto whatever had embedded itself in the demon's chest, and ripped it out, causing the demon to howl in pain. The man leaped up as the demon swung at him, landing on the thing's left hand, the bones snapping under his massive weight.

The demon roared again as the man shot up its arm like a monkey – or in this case, a badass gorilla – and swung what I could now recognize as a massive, jagged great sword up into the thing's neck, cleaving its head from its shoulders as the roar died in its mouth. Even as the head fell from the body, the corpse began to burn, turning to ashes as the man leaped back to the ground, a spider web of cracks forming beneath him as he landed. He nodded with satisfaction as he placed his sword on his back.

"He… he just… he killed it… how…?" Cross stammered.

"I don't recognize him. You think he's new?" Leon asked me.

"I don't particularly care. He just saved our asses," I cleared my throat, and shouted out to the man "Hey!"

He stopped, turning towards us. I couldn't see past the darkness of his hood… except for two cold, burning, bluish-white eyes, eyes devoid of all emotion except for grim resolve. I swallowed nervously, and, ignoring Leon's hisses of warning, said "thanks for killing that thing. You saved our lives back there. I don't know what would have happened if you didn't show up when you did."

The man regarded me coldly, and then drew his massive sword. My heart skipped a beat as he swung the blade-

-directly into another demon that had every intention of ripping us to shreds from behind. Blood splattered against my back as the demon fell, its remains already aflame and burning.

"It wouldn't have made any difference," the man stated, his voice low, deep, and powerful, his tone one of monotone indifference, "if you knew who I was, you'd be begging for your lives, or running for them. If you _do_ value your lives, you will get out of the city."

He walked past us without another word. He didn't need to say anything else.

"I think we should listen to what the guy said," Cross swallowed, obviously shaken by what he'd just witnessed.

"I know. We're getting out of the city. But the only problem is, this place is unrecognizable to me now. I hope you two at least recognize something?" I asked hopefully.

"Sorry. The city's in ruins. I don't recognize anything," Leon shrugged.

"The place is like Greek to me now. I couldn't find anything with a map," Cross pulled out his brass knuckles again, glancing about for any signs of a threat.

"In which case, we have two options. Choose random directions…" I trailed off. Cross and Leon tensed up in anticipation before I finished "or we can follow him."

They looked at each other before looking back at me, the looks on their faces priceless as they clearly began questioning my sanity.

"Look," I began, "I don't know about you guys, but I don't feel like going down every road at random with demons lurking around every corner. That guy slaughtered a demon with minimal effort, and we have no idea where we're going. Therefore, I would conclude that our best bet is to follow him."

Leon looked about ready to argue, but then stopped, thinking about how he'd do it. Almost immediately he decided to keep his mouth shut. Cross shrugged, obviously believing my points, and we started down the street after him, watching in grim fascination as he slaughtered everything that got in his way.

For an instant, he cocked his head towards us slightly. I felt my blood freeze as he glanced back, before placing his blade on his back and continuing onwards. Though he didn't show it, I could tell that he knew we were following him. I watched him climb up a mass of fleshy veins that had scaled their way up the side of a building, then he was gone.

"Come on," I came out from hiding, getting ready to climb the mass.

"Um… guys?" I heard Leon call.

"Yeah?" I responded while Cross started testing the veins to see if they would hold his weight.

"We're not just dealing with demons anymore," I turned to see Leon pointing down the street. I saw winged humanoid figures in pure golden armour locked in combat with the same kind of demon that the big guy had killed earlier. They carried massive, almost futuristic glaives that were evidently meant specifically to kill demons; they cleaved through the demon's flesh like a hot knife through butter. Their massive wings shone a mixture of white and bright blue, giving off wave after wave of holy light as they slowly whittled the demon down.

We scrambled up the mass of flesh, not even bothering to see who the victor was. It was bad enough that we had to deal with demons; no matter what life generally said about angels being good, we were not going to take our chances. The soft matter bulged between my fingers as I gripped it in my hands, making my grip instantly instinctively loosen in disgust. But all the same, I continued climbing, Leon and Cross close behind. We were _not_ going to die today.

As soon as we reached the top, I caught a glimpse of the man climbing up another veined mass to the top of a higher building. I grated my teeth, internally swearing as I watched him reach the top within seconds. How did he get up there so quickly?

My thoughts were quickly interrupted by a familiar unnatural snarling as more of the dog demons climbed up over the edge. But this time around, there were even more of them, all of them much, much bigger in size (about the size of a bear), and all with the intent of oh, guess what? Biting our throats out. Just like everything else we were running into today.

"This is really beginning to annoy me," I glared at them, and then gave them a good look (if they could even see) at the blood stained on my knife – blood of the unlucky demon bastard that tried to kill me earlier. Almost immediately they erupted into a frenzy, all of them struggling against one another to get the first bite before the biggest one, even larger and more disfigured than its brothers, let out a louder roar than the others, silencing them instantly.

"Ah, crap."

"What is it, Cross?" Leon asked, drawing his knives.

"Looks like we've got more problems than just them," Cross pointed as he cracked his knuckles again. I spared a glance, and sure enough, there were the angels from earlier, racing towards us at an insane speed, "so what do we do? We're blocked off on the front and with those angels at our backs, retreat might not be an option."

"We know that, Cross," I growled, glaring at the leader of the hellhounds. I swore under my breath, "God damn it. Ok," I breathed, "here's the plan. Kill the demon dogs, and pray like hell that the angels are here to help."

With that, Cross and I rushed forwards to meet the pack of hounds, Leon launching knives into the fray as support fire. I ducked as one tried to leap on me and brought my dagger up into its soft gut, ripping into its flesh as I held it up above the ground for an instant before throwing it back and stabbing the knife into its back, watching it begin to burn as I removed my knife from its flesh. Then, dancing backwards out of another's reach, I jumped forwards when the thing swung too wide with its claws and brought the knife down into the back of its neck, severing the spine with surprising, yet satisfying ease.

"For the Light!"

A sudden beam of cobalt light incinerated the demon that was on Cross' back as he fought off two more at the same time, effectively saving his spine as he bludgeoned the other two with ease, switching targets with each strike and dodge, but never blocking; he'd learned his lesson from the previous hellhound he'd fought. As I raced forwards to kill the one that he'd just knocked over, a flash of gold reached it before I did, and the hellhound was immediately consumed in blue flame rather than the orange ones that had cremated the ones that we'd killed. The angel before me was incredibly tall – not quite as tall as the man from before, but still tall. He was clad from head to toe in golden, futuristic armour, and cold blue eyes glowed from under his helmet, the same sky blue colour as his glowing, armoured wings. He swung his glaive into another demon, and the cobalt fire set it aflame as he cast it into the rest of the pack, the blue fire spreading to their bodies as the ashes blew about in the wind. They howled in pain as they retreated, but to no avail; they were all quickly consumed by the fire.

Just as Leon finished off yet another one of his demons, the angels landed all around us as he swore about his wasted knives. One approached, grabbing onto me and examining me thoroughly. Though they spoke in a language I didn't understand, I still got the feeling that I was not going to get along with these guys – their body language said it all. They were loud, self-righteous, and arrogant, all of them burning with ambition to rise to a higher spot in the world – or their world, rather – in whatever was happening. I could tell from their gaze, the look of condescending that they gave us, the way they spoke and refused to speak in our language that they thought us nothing more than pawns, if that, in their little game. While I doubted that most angels were like this, these guys were not making a very good impression for their own race.

"This one is clean," the one dropped me, and I fell hard on my back, "no sin, besides what was necessary for him to survive. Except for the theft of his knife. That was his one act of sin that was not a necessity."

Moving on to Leon, he grabbed onto my friend by the arm and hoisted him slightly above the ground. He yelped "if this has anything to do with the bread I stole last week, I had no choice! It was either take it or starve!"

Promptly ignoring him, the angel examined Leon the same way he did me before dropping him "this one is also clean. His unnecessary sins are somewhat more numerous, but he had his reasons."

Moving onto Cross, he frowned as he took a look at his wounded arm. Taking a closer look, he sighed, "this one is clean as well. Stubborn, but clean. But alas…"

The angel drew his glaive and took a swing at Cross. In response, Cross jumped backwards, brass knuckles at the ready as the angel came at him again. They stopped as a knife embedded itself in the angel's wing, slicing through the tendons and causing him to scream and collapse on the ground, gripping at his wounded, now useless wing as the knife fell to the ground, coated in lightly coloured blood, "y-you dare…" he spat, attempting to force himself to his feet, "you dare to cross the angels? You dare cross the Hellguard, who just saved your lives?"

"Yeah. We do. You attempted to kill our brother. That's more than enough reason for us to kill you," I kicked dust into his face. As he removed his helmet in an attempt to breathe, I kicked him in the face so hard that it left the imprint of my shoe on his face. Surprisingly, my foot stung as if I'd just kicked a steel wall, "I'd be very interested to know why."

"You fools…" the angel stuttered, "that boy… has been infected… If he isn't killed… he'll become… a demon."

"That's bull," Leon spat as the other angels surrounded us, looking ready to butcher us.

Another meteor smashed into the building next to us, grabbing the attention of the angels as yet another giant demon flew out of it, grabbing onto the angel Leon wounded and lifting off into the air. The angel screamed as the demon bit into him, his comrades striking in vain against the draconic demon's iron scales. Taking the opportunity, we bolted in the direction we headed originally, chasing after the man we'd been following again. We made it to the top of the next building using the veins of flesh that had scaled its side, and peered over the edge to catch a glimpse of a massive pit of lava that had replaced what was once a massive intersection. Angel and demon alike flew through the skies around it, constantly flinging each other and occasionally themselves into the pit of molten death as more and more demons continually climbed out of it. Both airborne and on terra firma, the forces of Heaven and Hell waged war against one another in an endless slaughter.

"An entryway to Hell, I'm guessing?" Leon commented, surveying the destruction around us.

"I guess so," Cross rubbed at his bleeding arm, wincing in pain whenever he touched it, "I don't know about you two, but what that angel said back there worries me. I don't want to be a demon."

"And you won't be. Besides, I bet it was just an excuse to kill you," I clapped a hand down on his shoulder, trying not only to reassure him, but myself as well. I looked back at the destruction, and my eyes widened, "there he is, guys."

Sure enough, the man we met earlier was there on the ground, arguing with a particularly fancy looking angel dressed in a mixture of dark blue robes and white armour with gold trim and designs weaving their way across it. His gigantic white wings beat the air without any effort, making it easy for him to stay aloft. His long white hair was slicked back so it went down the back of his armour instead of flowing free, and what looked like a blue and gold medallion of a gold cross on top of a golden circle covered his right eye like an eye patch. Chains hung from either side of his waist, each one wrapped around some piece of equipment, and his long sword was a shined silver with a golden hilt. Another two angels hovered by him, one an incredibly tall woman with shoulder length white hair that flowed freely about her head, her white, gold-trimmed armour, dark blue greaves, twin tipped silver sword and golden wings glinting in what remained of the sunlight (man, these angels sure had a thing for the colours white, blue, silver and gold). The other was an inch or two taller than the woman, but perhaps slightly shorter than the old man with the eye patch, this one wore a simple white gauntlet with gold trim that encased his entire left arm. Besides that and a modest silver chain around his neck, his torso was bare, exposing the trio of scars across his chest and abdomen, as well as his well-worked body. His lower body was covered in white and dark blue robes, and a set of white greaves covered his legs. His long, unkempt hair was white with gold streaks, and his brilliant white and sky blue wings gave off a massive amount of holy power, even more so than the old man's. In his right hand, a massive silver and gold blade with a design that looked like something out of the imagination of God himself glowed with an equal amount of power.

"Wow. They look important," Leon muttered.

"That they do," I agreed, Cross merely nodding.

Without warning, the lake of flame erupted, and what looked like a giant black arm shot out of it, reaching for the trio of angels. The young man and the woman, having noticed the explosion, flew out of the way just before the hand reached them. The old one with the eye patch was not so lucky; he was crushed in the armoured hand that had reached out, his magnificent white wings sticking out between the fingers as blood began to drip from the hand. Even as the hand drew itself back in, the female angel screamed "ABADDON!" then she turned to the man in red, who had fallen to one knee, leaning on his jagged blade. Her golden eyes blazed as she demanded, "what in Heaven's name have you done?"

"I… answer the call," was the man's only answer before an absolutely gigantic demon (one that made the demon the guy in red killed earlier look like a puppy in comparison of both size and ugliness) reared its head as it pulled itself from the lava – well, halfway out of the lava, anyways. Wearing a crown of pure blackened iron, the thing's pale skin reflected the sunlight in a horrible, darkened aspect. Its skull-like, draconic head was almost too gruesome to look at, especially considering the fact that it looked like its nose was torn off, judging by the single hole in the center of its hideous face. Its entire body was coated in armour the colour of ash and dirty chrome, and its eyes were the same colour as Hell itself; a fiery orange like the lava that it had emerged from.

I swallowed. Maybe following the demon slayer dude wasn't the best idea.

All of a sudden, the male angel that had survived the hand landed before us. He surveyed us for an instant before approaching Leon.

"What do you think you're doing, Gabriel!?" the cold voice of the female angel echoed as she swooped before us, her golden eyes glinting with sorrow, outrage and hate, "we need to kill that demon, and then punish the Horseman for what he has done!"

_Gabriel? Horseman? Why is that famil- wait… could this guy be…? _I looked up at the angel before me. Was he…?

"The Horseman has done nothing, Uriel!" the one named Gabriel turned to her, his icy blue eyes burning and brimming slightly with tears, "the death of Abaddon was the demon's doing, not that of the Horseman. Besides," he turned back to us, "we should help those we can, rather than try to avenge those who are already gone. Whether or not we kill the demon makes no difference to what happens to Abaddon now. We'll save these kids, then we'll kill the demon."

The angel named Uriel gawked for an instant, "are you blind, Gabriel?" she hissed, "has your love for that dead Nephilim woman and her people blinded you to the point where you can't even see that the Horseman is guilty for all this? It was him who started this before the Seals were broken! It was his-" she stopped herself abruptly, and shook her head as Gabriel stiffened in his growing anger and disbelief, "don't answer that question. I already know the answer," she turned her back on us, "your emotions have blinded you, Gabriel. You are no longer fit to be an archangel."

She flew off as Gabriel let out a roar of fury, swinging his blade in a circle in an attempt to cut her. But she was already gone. His breathing became ragged and harsh as tears ran down his face, spattering against the concrete as he gripped his silver chain, light, barely audible sobs taking the now confirmed archangel over. As the battle between the demon and the red-hooded man unfolded, Gabriel's breaths slowly deepened as he regained control. He finally turned to us again, "alright. Here's the deal. I'm going to get you kids out of here. The only problem is, I have to be able to fight off whatever demons we run into, so I can only take you one at a time," he grabbed onto Leon, hoisting him up and ignoring his protests, "you two stay put, you got it?" not even waiting for an answer, he walked to the edge and turned to us again, cutting off our own protests as he spoke "I mean it. Unless you can't afford to, stay. Right. Here," he turned away again, "I'll be right back."

Then he leaped, taking Leon with him.

"Leon!" I shouted, running up to the edge and watching the archangel fly off with my friend – no, my brother! Sure, he'd been taken by an archangel, meaning he probably had the best guardian possible, and he said he'd be back, but still!

"Blake? We've got company."

I turned, and true enough, more demons climbed over the edge. I drew my knife. I needed something to vent on. And they were the perfect opportunity.

The next few minutes were filled with slashing and blood as Cross and I fought our way through the horde of demons before us. Though I was never hit, Cross sustained more and more damage as we fought on, bloody scratches covering his arms, chest, back, legs, and even a trio going on an angle down the side of his face. The more strikes he took, the harder he fought, but also the more pain he seemed to be in. Noticeable winces of pain began to take form on his face when he moved; he must have been in more pain than I'd ever seen him in before if he was showing it.

"God damn it, there's way too many of these guys!" I swore.

Cross was about to respond, when his face contorted with pain. He fell to his knees as the demons around us began to back away in fear, hunching up around himself and gripping at his torso.

"Cross!" I put my hand on his shoulder, "you okay?"

"G-get away from me, Blake…" he managed, "get… away…" with no warning, Cross grabbed me by the throat and forced me to the edge of the building, howling, "GET AWAY FROM ME!"

I suddenly found myself falling, only to have the wind forced from my lungs as I landed on the top of another building three stories below. Forcing myself to my feet, I stared upwards in disbelief as Cross once again engaged the demons, quickly encased by the roiling mass of flesh that was their horde.

I couldn't believe it. Leon was taken by the archangel, and Cross had broken the one rule that we never, _ever_ break. You never abandon the others, and you never play the tragic hero. We either all survive, or none of us survive. It's that simple.

And it was broken. So easily broken.

I stifled a sob, and turned to glare at the giant black demon that was fighting the man in red. There was no doubt. This was that demon's fault. He was their commander, their general. It was him that caused all this, him and whoever commanded him. I picked my knife back up out of the dirt, and climbed down a pile of rubble to the street below. I took no notice of the explosions around me, cutting down the demons before me as I made my way through the bloody, ruined streets towards my quarry.

Before long, the giant of a demon was leaning on the street, gasping for breath as the cloaked man raised his blade. I broke into a run, not wanting to miss my chance at vengeance. I felt myself leap, landing on the man's shoulder and using him as a springboard for a second jump before landing on the demon's face. Its eye widened in surprise – right before I lashed out with my knife. The demon unleashed a roar as blood flowed down the right side of its face like tears from its blinded eye, rearing its head in an attempt to throw me off. Instead, I brought my knife down into its skin, not damaging the demon in the slightest, but giving me something to keep from falling off.

A dark shadow fell over me as the red-hooded man leaped himself, soaring into the air and bringing his sword down into the blind mess of an eye. The demon roared in pain again as the warrior removed the blade, and leaped up again, his right hand and sword glowing blue – only for him to stop in midair as what sounded like a war horn sounded. A black aura surrounded him as he let go of his sword, falling to earth as the sword fell into the lava. My knife slipped, and I fell beside the man, who was now struggling to rise to his feet. Even as I tried to stand, the demon gave a throaty, horrid laugh before giving a light backhand to us, knocking us both across the street. I felt drops of blood spray from my mouth as I gasped in pain. I glanced upwards, and there was Gabriel, fighting his way through demons only to be knocked back by a dark shadow that blew away all the demons around it. Before I could get a good look, the shadow, vaguely humanoid outlined against the sky, leaped away across the rooftops, black, ethereal wings sprouting from its back as it disappeared. The archangel smashed his fist into the side of the building in frustration. Glancing down, he caught side of me, and his eyes widened as he looked from me to the demon to me again.

"The law… has been broken," the man struggled to rise again. Instead, a black, gauntlet enclosed itself around us both, crushing me against the hulking demon slayer as we were lifted to the demon's hideous, bloody face.

"And so have you, Horseman," the demon growled with pleasure at getting to kill him slowly. Then he began to tighten his grip, attempting to crush us. The so-called "Horseman" began to fight back, pressing his body against the thick fingers as he fought to keep himself from the same fate as the old angel… but pressing me against the hand in the process. Being crushed from two sides at the same time, I could do nothing to push back.

_Am I going to die here…? _I wondered, then cut myself off as my lungs were deprived of air, _no… I won't die here. I will not die. I will not die. I refuse to die here!_

Even as I attempted to fight back I saw between the black armoured fingers Gabriel diving towards me, his arm outstretched towards me in his attempt to reach me, his face twisted as he called out to me. I heard the armour-clad warrior give a yell, and then a crimson flash surrounded us both. The pressure on my body released as I found myself on a stone floor, with great flames roaring in every direction.

And then… darkness.

* * *

Okay. Completed the first Chapter! Not bad, not bad at all...

I'm new, so please review, and go easy on me. Yes, I am going to keep this stuff as close to the game as possible, though some events will be changed. Just so you know.


	2. Few Explanations, More Complications

While normally I wouldn't have updated so soon, because Azrael so nicely requested it, I decided to update a little early. Just as a side note, I will not do this for EVERYONE; I will only do this if I'm feeling particualarly nice. And to answer your questions, Azrael, I will not give out much for spoilers. You will, like everyone else, have to wait and see to see if Blake's friends and Gabriel return. But I will assure you, expect changes if - and when - they do. Major changes. And as for the height of the angels, I'm only going by estimate here, but I would assume about six and a half feet for the average angel. That would make Uriel about six foot five, and Gabriel about six foot seven or something.

I do not own Darksiders. If I did... oh, the terror that would have been wrought...

* * *

BLAKE

I heard flame roar around me as I was dragged from the depths of my subconscious. The heat was intensifying by the second, as if enraged, as if it had every intent of flaying me alive. I forced my eyes open, and proceeded to force my aching body to its feet. I looked around, taking in my surroundings as I attempted to recall what had happened. Where were Leon and Cross? What happened-

My eyes widened as the memories flooded me, each one striking me across the face with the force of a head-on collision with a truck. I felt myself begin to tremble as I remembered what happened to Leon and Cross. One taken by an archangel, the other attacked by demons. Why? Why did it happen? How could I let it happen? We were supposed to look after one another! How could I have let-

**"THE LAW IS CLEAR,"** my thoughts were interrupted by a massive, echoing voice, **"WHEN THE SEVENTH SEAL IS BROKEN, FOUR HORSEMEN SHALL RIDE FORTH TO PUNISH THE WICKED, BE THEY SONS OF MEN, LORDS OF HEAVEN, OR THE DREGS OF HELL. ALL UPON THE EARTH WILL BE JUDGED, AND THE PACT FORGED ANEW,"** whipping about, I found myself facing a trio of gigantic stone skulls, all of them scorched black by the crackling flame that burned in their huge, jagged mouths and eyes, illuminating the darkness around them, **"YOU FORGET YOUR POST, HORSEMAN! YOU FORGET THE LAW!"** the entire place shook with the voice's shouts of anger, **"NO CALL WAS GIVEN, AND YET THE DESTROYER MARCHED, AND THERE YOU WERE FOUND. UNDER HIS BLACK BANNER, IF THE CLAIMS ARE TRUE."**

Judging from the voice, it sounded like the voice had come from the head in the center, the largest of the three.

"To Hell with your claims!" another, closer voice roared, familiar and clear, obviously enraged. I turned, and the man in red kneeled before them, rage blazing in the glowing blue flames that made up his eyes. It was the first time that I'd actually taken a good look at him. The red hood that wrapped about his head and shoulders had a gold trim around its edges (the edges that weren't ragged from years of combat, anyways), and was held in place by two small bronze shields, one on the right side of his powerful chest and the other on the bottom of his right shoulder blade. A massive bronze shoulder guard engraved with runes was mounted on his left shoulder, with more of the ragged cloak hanging out from underneath it, and his giant, claw-like gauntlet of a left hand was engraved with a skull on the back of it, the skull's outline – along with the spaces that made up all of its joints – glowing an infernal red. On his right shoulder was another shield-like piece of plate, this one silver like the steel it was made from, engraved with the face of an enraged demon, joining onto his smaller right arm, made from the same steel as his left, the gauntlet far smaller in size and far different in design, layered pieces of metal making up its build. His body armour was black, bronze, silver and red in a mixture of torn, ragged cloak that hung from both the front and back from his massive iron belt (with bronze designs working their way across the center and edges), steel shin guards that were held in place by nails and belts over the black cloth underneath. The steel boots that he wore were filthy, spattered in dirt and blood, and his knee guards were mismatched; his right a skull engraved on a bronze disk, his left a steel trio of claw marks on a steel ring, the same type of design on the shields that held the red cloak in place. Steel armour protected the sides of his thighs, the right with another demon-like face twisted in a snarl, and I could now see the features of his face from underneath his hood; silvery white hair flashed as it reflected the flame where it stuck out from the hood. His strong, lightly scarred features would make any man back down in intimidation, and on his dark forehead slightly above his eyes, a glowing white symbol in the shape of the outline of an upside down trident head, "the seals were broken! I was summoned!" the man declared, his teeth bared and his powerful jaw set.

**"AND WHERE ARE THE OTHER HORSEMEN? WERE THEY NOT 'SUMMONED' AS WELL?"** the skull on the right growled.

**"THE SEVEN SEALS ARE HIDDEN, AS THEY HAVE BEEN SINCE THE PACT WAS FORGED, EONS AGO. ALL OF THEM INTACT. THERE WAS NO CALL,"** the center skull added.

**"YOU AIDED THE DARK ONES, BROKE A SACRED COVENENANT THAT HAS DOOMED MANKIND, AND THREATENED THE BALANCE! DO YOU DENY IT?" **the skull on the right demanded once again.

The "Horseman" before me, grated his teeth, lowering his head as his thoughts raced, "when I rode… Heaven and Hell were already at war," he raised his head as he came to some sort of conclusion, "Abaddon was there. He KNEW something…!"

**"ABADDON FELL, FIGHTING OFF THE CHAOS YOU UNLEASHED!"** the center skull hollered.

"Umm… hello?" I called nervously. If they heard me, they showed no sign of it.

"I fought, powerless against the demons!" the man shouted, obviously wanting to get to his feet and smash the skulls to dust with that gauntlet of his, "and still you accuse me?"

**"YOUR DEFEAT PROVES NOTHING! LIKELY, THE DESTROYER CAST YOU ASIDE WHEN HE WAS FINISHED WITH YOU!"** the skull on the left declared.

**"YOU HAVE DEFILED THE LAW, HORSEMAN. YOU WILL BE PUNISHED,"** the one on the right spoke.

"Oh, for God's sake," I shouted, "will you all shut up and tell me what in _Hell _is going on here? And where am I, anyways?"

A massive wave of surprise from both parties when I spoke up. The warrior's face remained totally stoic as he glanced in my direction, but I could see the mixing emotions in his eyes. Shock, confusion, and then questions shot through his eyes like missiles before dissipating into cold blue flame.

**"A CHILD OF MAN APPROACHES THE COUNCIL DEMANDING KNOWLEDGE?"** the center skull snarled, **"SUCH ARROGANCE. AND YET, HE MAY BE THE LAST OF HIS KIND… WHO ARE YOU? AND HOW DID YOU COME HERE? WE DID NOT SUMMON YOU!"**

"Considering how I have _no_ idea how I got here, I was hoping one of you would have an answer to that question," I responded, "and as for who I am, my name is Blake. Now, what's going on, and where am I?"

"You are standing before the being known as the Charred Council," the warrior spat the name out with obvious disdain, "and as for what is happening, you are present for my jury and sentencing."

"For what?" I asked.

**"THIS ONE IS GUILTY OF STARTING THE ENDWAR BEFORE THE SEVEN SEALS WERE BROKEN, DISRUPTING THE BALANCE AND SENDING THE THIRD KINGDOM TO ITS DOOM. THE THIRD KINGDOM, MAN, HAS FALLEN TO ITS KNEES, AND NOTHING WILL EVER BE ABLE TO MAKE IT STAND PROUD AGAIN, IF AT ALL,"** the skull on the left spoke.

"The Seven Seals… the Horsemen… Demons… Archangels…" there was a short pause between each word as I put the pieces together, "when you said 'EndWar…' did you mean the Apocalypse?" my eyes widened in horrible realization, "are you telling me that the actual, biblical Apocalypse was taking place back there?"

**"YES. WHAT YOU OF THE KINGDOM OF MAN CALL THE APOCALYPSE, THOSE OF THE WHITE CITY AND THE BLACK PIT CALL THE ENDWAR. THERE WAS A TRUCE FORCED UPON THE TWO KINGDOMS BY US, THE CHARRED COUNCIL, KEPT TRUE BY SEVEN SEALS, TO BE BROKEN AT THE APPOINTED TIME, WHEN THE KINGDOM OF MAN STOOD READY FOR THE ENDWAR. HAD THE FORCES OF HEAVEN AND HELL NOT MARCHED, THEN MAN WOULD HAVE BECOME INTEGRAL TO THE BALANCE. BUT NOW," **the center skull's flame flared, **"THERE WILL BE NO CHANCE FOR SUCH A THING TO TAKE PLACE. YOU WILL BEAR WITNESS TO THE EXECUTION OF THE ONE GUILTY OF THE ACT, THE HORSEMAN WAR."**

I stared at the now-proclaimed War. His jaw was set, his teeth bared in hatred, his fists clenched and every muscle in his body tense, "I serve only the council. Only the Balance. As the Horsemen always have. I have a request to make."

**"YOU ARE IN NO POSITION TO MAKE DEMANDS OF US, HORSEMAN!" **the center skull practically screamed at him.

Ignoring the skull, War continued "send me back, and I will punish the ones responsible."

"Sounds good to me," I mused, placing my hands behind my head, "I don't know about you guys, but something makes me sincerely doubt that this guy is guilty of starting an early apocalypse."

**"YOU WOULD DEFEND THE HORSEMAN, WHO HAS NO PROOF OF HIS INNOCENCE?"** the left skull inquired, obviously curious.

"Yeah, that's about it," I finished.

**"AND HOW DO YOU HOPE TO STAND AGAINST THE DESTROYER'S ARMIES, HORSEMAN? YOU ARE POWERLESS!"** The center skull declared.

"Then I will fail, and the demons will have carried out your sentence," War countered.

There was only the sound of roaring flames for a time. Finally, the center skull complied,** "****VERY WELL. YOU WILL RETURN TO THE EARTH. BUT YOU WILL BE WATCHED. COME FORTH."**

War stood, and it was only now that I realized just how tall he was. He towered over my five-foot six height with ease at a height of approximately twelve feet, his shoulder guards making his already incredibly broad back and shoulders seem even more so. His height alone brought everything into perspective, including the weight of his armour.

_Note to self; don't get on this guy's bad side, _was my only thought.

War stepped forwards towards the pit of lava before him. He got on one knee, and stuck his giant left gauntlet into it. I flinched as I heard him give slight snarls of pain, watching some kind of black, dripping aura appear in the lava, and was slowly absorbed from the lava into the gauntlet as War finally yanked it out of the boiling liquid.

**"THE WATCHER IS BOUND TO YOU. IT WILL ENSURE YOUR LOYALTY,"** the center skull was extremely talkative compared to its brothers.

Just then, an entity comprised of solid shadow manifested from the dark aura in War's left hand, giving off light, nearly maniacal compressed laughs. Impossibly skinny, its body simply trailed off into long shadows beneath its waist, giving a reason as to why it hovered in midair. Chains hung from its waist, seeming to serve no particular purpose, and its torso was covered by pieces of plate that seemed pointless, considering how small they were and how they didn't cover many lethal points of the body. Blue markings ran along its chest and arms, working their way across its mix of dark and pale skin all the way to the broken clack manacles that hung from the creature's wrists, just above its black claws. Small, desecrated wings rose up from its back, far too small to have any purpose besides decoration, but the worst thing about the creature was its head; twisted black horns spiraled from the back of the thing's smooth, almost elongated skull before trailing off into shadow. Its face had no features besides the imprints of bone beneath its black, shadowed mask, and the six glowing blue slits that made up its eyes. They were nothing like War's eyes; where War's eyes were menacing, the blue flame alone enough to make a man want to run away screaming, this thing's eyes were filled with cunning and deception, lies and manipulation making up the creature's very being. One glance into those eyes was all I needed to tell that I was _not _going to get along with this guy.

"Remember that," the being that was apparently the Watcher hissed at War, spinning around the warrior before getting right up into his face as it spoke, "or I will _really_ get under your skin."

The Watcher disappeared, and War grunted, grimacing in pain as the black aura reappeared on his hand, before giving a small snarl of pain and falling to his knees before the Council.

**"ENOUGH!"** the center skull roared as War got onto one knee, the black aura having dissipated, **"RISE, WAR… AND ARM YOURSELF."**

War got to his feet, and moved on to the right, climbing up a flight of stone steps to a series of rocks surrounding a pool of lava. Following up after him, I watched as the hilt of a sword rose out of the lava.

**"CHAOSEATER. THE ANGRY BLADE THIRSTS FOR DESTRUCTION,"** the Council leader stated with excessive drama in its voice.

War simply took the hilt, and yanked the sword out of the lava, looking it over and giving it an experimental swing before giving an annoyed snort and placing the blade on his back. Recognizing it as the sword he lost, I took a long good look at the design that the blade had taken. Covered in the faces of the dead, the living, and demons, the faces were all either twisted in snarls of hate and anger or screams of pain and torment. What looked like a horse skull had been carved into where the hilt connected to the blade, not even bothering with a guard for protection, and a large, broken ring had been fixed to the bottom of the hilt, presumably once some kind of tether to keep from losing it. The entire thing seethed with a bloodlust and hunger for destruction so powerful that I could feel myself being pushed back and pulled forwards at the same time, my instincts trying to make me run, the sword trying to force me near so it could dig its blade into my flesh. The jagged edges and twin tips on the end of the blade gave me all I needed to know about what was going to happen if I was hit by that thing.

War glanced over to the left, and then started off in the opposite direction down the steps. Something had caught his attention. Remembering my own weapon, I checked to see if I still had my knife. I let out a sigh of relief as I felt my hand close around the hilt, a slight smile crossing my face as I followed after War again.

**"THE SOULS OF THE DEAD WILL BE YOUR CURRENCY. SOME ENEMIES ARE MORE EASILY BOUGHT THAN KILLED,"** this time it was the skull on the right that spoke, sending chills down my spine as he made his point. Even as we ascended the next flight of steps to face the glowing blue flame that burned in the circle before us, I thought about what he meant. True, bribery or negotiations were occasionally better ideas than head-on conflict, but the souls of the dead as currency? What the Hell was that supposed to-

My suspicions were confirmed as War outstretched his left arm again. The blue flame slowly dissipated as it dispersed into small orbs of energy and shot into the gauntlet. Just as the last of the flame disappeared into the claw-like chunk of metal, I realized that the energy wasn't taking the shape of orbs. They were taking the shape of skulls. Meaning…

_Souls…_ my brain tried and failed to process what just happened as War descended the steps again to face the council. Rage flared in me as I followed. What did those idiots think they were doing? Who were they to use souls as _currency?_ Where did they get off being so high and mighty, like everything that they did was right and that no one could question them?

My thoughts were interrupted once again as the center skull spoke, **"SEEK THE DEMON VULGRIM. FEW CAN AFFORD HIS SERVICES, BUT PERHAPS YOU CAN STRIKE A BARGAIN."**

I stiffened as they spoke. Was that why they used souls as currency? To make deals with demons?

"The Council confers with demons, now does it?" iciness tinged War's voice, mixed with obvious disgust at the thought of commissioning the service of a demon.

**"SINCE THE TRUCE WAS BROKEN, SOME DEMONS HAVE FALLEN FROM THE DESTROYER'S FAVOR,"** the skull on the right reasoned, **"VULGRIM IS ONE SUCH OUTCAST. HE HAS LONG SOUGHT AN AUDIENCE WITH US."**

That lost comment confused me beyond everything else that had taken place thus far. I was about to ask what they meant by that when War wondered aloud "how long have I been here?"

"What do you mean how long have you-" I was cut off as War cringed in pain again, and my body was wracked with agony. I writhed, nearly falling as I struggled to think clearly, and then red flame began to surround me and the hulking warrior like a sphere of fire, and then I found myself beside War in the flame, watching as everything below us shot past. I got a glance at the ruined building we were shooting towards, and the one thing that shot through my head was _this is going to _hurt_…_


	3. Deals with Demons

I was intending to hold off for a little bit before posting this, but it's ready, I'm impatient, so to hell with it. And I think I may have made a mistake with Uriel's hieght; now that I think about it, I'd think she's closer to eight foot five. The average angel is about eight foot seven, the champions are about ten feet tall, and Gabriel is eight foot nine.

I do not own Darksiders. If I did, then you're reading what would have happened.

* * *

WAR

The side of the building shattered as the meteor that encased me smashed into it, cracking open as it shattered the earth where it landed and resulting in a crater over twenty five feet in diameter. Resulting with me on one knee on the burning earth beneath me, the wretched creature that had embedded himself in my arm revealed itself, placing his parasitic claw on my shoulder as he spoke, "looks like our trajectory was a little off."

Ignoring him, I got to my feet and started making my way up the side of the crater.

"Not so fast, Horseman," the Watcher called, and blazing pain shot through me, a blue glow taking on the form of a rune-inscribed circle surrounding me and black, shadowlike tendrils writhing across my torso as I let out a snarl of pain, falling to my knees and using Chaoseater for support as I struggled to regain my breath. The parasite glided around to face me as his foul, sickening voice grated on my ears, "let's lay down a few ground rules."

I glared at him, sheer hate burning in me as he continued, "until this is over, you're a dog on a leash. I say bark, you bark. And if I have to kick you, you'd better not bare your teeth. Understand?" his eyes narrowed slightly with pleasure as he rose up into the air, "or should I teach you to play dead?"

In response, I got back to my feet as the pain subsided, reattaching my blade to my back and walking past him without a word.

"Good boy," his voice contained more sick pleasure at having been able to force me under his thumb. If it weren't for the fact that killing him would bring the Council's wrath down on my head, I would have snapped his spine like a twig, and crushed his skull under my boot. I was reaching the edge of the crater when I heard a groan of pain.

"Agh… yep. That hurt."

I turned to see the boy that had somehow been brought before the Council rising to his feet, stretching out his limbs and checking to see if he'd been wounded. Satisfied that he had come out unscathed, he glanced about, catching sight of me quickly. Giving a weak smile, he raised his hand, "uh… hi?"

I grated my teeth. Something else I had been left to deal with.

The boy's dirty blond hair caught the sunlight as he clambered up the side of the crater wall after me. He was somehow… familiar, though I couldn't really place why, and it wasn't because he'd been in the city when the EndWar began. He was small, even for a human his age, just below my waist in height. His malnourished body showed impressions of bone through his skin, and his clothes were ragged, shredded and filthy, not quite fitting properly on him. But what got my attention were his eyes; cold icy blue with light reflections of green in them, filled with life but having seen things that no child should ever be forced to witness, bearing the innocence of one his age but having been forced to mature so quickly. His lightly tanned skin was covered in a thick layer of filth, a thorough combination of dirt, mud, dust and blood.

"Alright, I'm not in the best mood, and I don't know what's going on, but whatever it is, I guess my questions can wait until we're out of here. Except one. Where are we now?" he followed closely behind as I began making my way out of the dust.

"Earth," the Watcher manifested himself again, clearly taking an immediate dislike for the boy "and as far as I'm concerned, you can join the rest of your mouth-breathing friends in the afterlife. So do me a favour, and get lost."

"I knew I wasn't going to get along with you," the boy's voice was tinged with annoyance, "and no, I'm not getting lost. We're already lost, seeing as how we've got no idea where we are. Besides, I think that I'm going to enjoy getting on your nerves… Watcher, was it?"

"What of it?" the shadowy wretch sneered.

"Not a very creative name. How about Watchy? Or Watch, Teller of the Time?"

One of the watcher's six eyes twitched as the rest of them narrowed, "you disgusting little mouth-breather," he hissed, "I should-"

"Your insult vocabulary also needs work. I've been called much worse than that in the past, so I'm not that impressed. You want to have an insult contest? See who's better?" the child's voice held light tinges of amusement, obviously savouring the Watcher's torment. In spite of myself, I smirked, grateful to the Creator that the boy and the Watcher were too absorbed in their banter to notice.

My smirk disappeared almost immediately as I took in our surroundings. Wrecked rusting human vehicles littered the area, which appeared to be some kind of underground storage for these fragile constructs of man. Pale-skinned bodies littered the ground around us, their chests and skulls having been ripped open to expose a glowing orange center in each of them, scraps of clothing barely covering their desecrated, rotting bodies. Their faces twisted into feral snarls, they had obviously died in a slow, painful way. I made my way up the ramp that led upwards, jumping a gap in the bridge with ease.

I cursed under my breath as I remembered the boy, who, though clearly resourceful, was still human; he couldn't hope to make a jump like that. Not that I particularly cared about what happened to him; he wasn't my responsibility. But he was the one who'd helped me sway the Council and gave me the chance to put everything back into place; seeing how I also despised owing anything to anyone, helping him get out of the building in return couldn't hurt, and would also get that debt off my chest with ease. After that, what happened to him was none of my concern. I turned to jump across again to see the human youth climbing up the edge, hoisting himself up before getting to his feet again and dusting himself off. Catching my somewhat surprised gaze, he shrugged, "rocks are easy to climb."

I nodded, my intrigue growing, and kept on, unable to stop the Watcher from cursing without pause within my arm as the boy continued to follow. Grabbing onto a steel beam that was exposed in the wall, I kept a firm grip as I ran along the wall across another gap, my gauntlet making sparks against the metal as I moved. Coming back onto the ground again, I turned, waiting to see what the boy would do next. He quickly assessed his surroundings, his eyes constantly darting bout, taking note of everything he could use to get across. Finally, he chose to try my method, grabbing onto the iron beam in the wall to make his way across, switching hands as he moved along. Instead of leaping for the ground, however, he sprang from the wall upwards, grabbing onto an exposed pipe and swinging once before releasing it, landing slightly ahead of me. This caused the Watcher to curse more profoundly at a speed I wasn't even sure was possible as the boy grinned, "judging from the look on your face, I would think that Watchy's pretty pissed, huh?"

"YOU LITTLE #$%!" the Watcher shrieked as he manifested again, "I'M GOING TO GUT YOU LIKE A FISH, YOU HEAR ME! A FISH!"

"There, now you're getting it, Watchy!" the child broke down into laughter as the Watcher's body began to twitch uncontrollably, "your threats still need a little work, but your insults are much better now!"

The Watcher was about to respond when one of the desecrated bodies twitched. One by one, immediately after another each one of them let out a hoarse roar, their eyes a baleful shade of glowing yellow, forcing themselves to their shambling feet as their moans echoed throughout what was about to be the site of a blood bath.

"Here comes the welcome party," the Watcher's voice smoothed to one of anticipation as he trembled, gripping onto my shoulder and glancing about hungrily, unable to wait for the impending massacre as the corpses drew ever closer. I drew Chaoseater, letting the blade smash into the ground, the concrete cracking under the sword's weight. I could feel the Watcher's excitement grow as the sword's power and bloodlust rippled through the air, "War, why don't you introduce yourself?"

I shot forwards, swinging the blade in a massive arc and carving through the bodies, spattering what was left of their blood on the ground, their bodies burning even as they fell to pieces before the onslaught. Bludgeoning one into the wall with enough force to turn every bone in its body to dust, I spared a glance at the boy; despite how he was covered in blood, I had no idea how he would fare in combat in the slightest. To my surprise, the boy had already taken down three of the dead creatures, knife in hand as he dodged underneath the arm of another one and stabbing it in the back shouting "ah, great. The Apocalypse takes place, and just to add insult to injury, they add zombies. Zombies! Why zombies? It's supposed to be the _biblical_ Apocalypse, not a zombie Apocalypse!"

"They are called Wickeds," I returned my concentration to the approaching horde of walking corpses, slashing them apart with minimal effort, the blue flame that made up their souls absorbing themselves into my left arm and Chaoseater giving off a low hum as it demanded the blood of stronger, more satisfying foes, "they are the result of infernal energy from Hell mixing with the evil that lies in a person's heart. I'll explain more later, when we don't have so many to deal with."

"Fine by me!" he tore into the Wicked closest to him, his knife cutting through the flesh and bone with ease – an ease that no weapon forged by human hands could ever hope to achieve.

I felt my eyes narrow as I watched the boy dash into the approaching crowd of Wickeds, slashing and stabbing at his opponents as he pushed through. How had that boy gotten his hands on a weapon that was meant for combat with creatures such as demons?

Something clashed with the armour of my left arm in my distraction. I glared down at the Wicked that was feebly clawing at my arm, before grabbing onto it by the head, my gauntlet encasing the entire top half of its torso. I effortlessly lifted the creature above the ground, its body struggling in vain against my grip, and crushed it, blood gushing between my clawed fingers as the Wicked's flailing limbs went limp. Dropping the mutilated, burning corpse, I forced my attention back to the Wickeds, though the question continued to burn in my mind like a brand.

Though it wasn't long before we'd dealt with the majority of the first wave of Wickeds, an unbelievably obese, demonic version of the creatures appeared not that far from us. Fire leaked out of cracks all over its green scaled body, cloaking the creature in flame as it bolted towards us, its unsightly body bouncing about, its disfigured, demonic, hairless head split into a roar – right before it exploded in a blast of searing flame, taking the way ahead with it. Souls flew from the resulting smoke into my gauntlet as I cursed, stabbing Chaoseater into another Wicked.

"Over here!"

I looked upwards to see the Watcher again, having manifested without my notice. He hovered near an exposed pipe that led across the newly-made gorge, though I had my doubts that it would hold my weight.

Not even giving it a second thought, I grabbed the boy, flung him onto my shoulder as he gave a yelp of surprise, and leaped up to the pipe above me. Grabbing onto the piece of metal, I threw my weight across, alternating hands on the beam as I moved forwards, easily getting across in two rotations. When I made it across, the pipe fell from the roof, falling to join the road that had gone crashing down to earth, and the youth clambered down from my shoulder.

"Never. Do. That. Again. Without warning me first!" he glared up at me, something I would never have expected from a human.

_He's an odd one, all right,_ was my only thought before turning and moving forwards again, the youth muttering under his breath as he followed. After fighting our way through the remaining Wickeds and another "Suicide-Bomber Terrorist Wicked" as the boy called them (neither me nor the Watcher bothered to ask), we found ourselves in a room filled with broken pillars, the walls, floor and ceiling ruined, though the furniture (even the piano in the corner) was, strangely enough, all well maintained, if aged.

"Well, at least they know how to keep_ something _in good condition," the youth shrugged as he drew his knife, another wave of Wickeds ready to attack.

I merely sighed, shaking my head as I drew Chaoseater again, the sword's hum turning into a roar of anger and demand for a more powerful opponent. These creatures had absolutely no idea when they should give up.

That was when an echoing roar sounded from somewhere under the floor. Chills shot down my spine as a dark, flame red circle expanded from the center of the floor, stretching out over ten feet across and engraved with runes written in Infernal, the demon dialect written by the Devil himself, spikes of flame jutting out as something began to emerge. It began with giant hands of flame, stone and molten rock, setting fire to everything that they touched. Pulling itself out further, the flame and rock mixed with blue scales before ending with just dark blue scales on its arms. The scales continued all over the remainder of its body. Its desecrated wings, all but devoid of use, had been rid of whatever membrane it may have once had, the demon flexing the withered, purposeless limbs with wild abandon. A massive bulk hung from beneath the demon's heavily muscled chest, and a thick, yet short tail thrashed about behind it. It gave a stomp in its anticipation, its stocky, thick legs cracking open the floor as the circle shrank back down to nothingness, its hideous face dripping with saliva as it gave off a low growl, a mixture of rage and excitement at having been brought here to fight before letting out a massive roar.

"A Gholen," the Watcher gave a light shudder, laughing slightly as he spoke "now _this_ should be _entertaining!"_

"What's this about a Gholen? You mean _that_ ugly son of a bitch?" the youth asked as he removed his knife from the chest of yet another dying Wicked.

"Yes," I felt Chaoseater begin to lower its hum to one of excitement rather than rage, "a more dangerous demon than most would have to fight with, if at all."

"So what do we do about it?"

"You deal with the Wickeds," I kept my gaze on the demon before me, "I'll make sure this thing is sent back to where it came from."

As if in response to my statement like it thought it was a challenge, the Gholen rushed at me, its fists releasing massive bursts of flame as it swung at me. Leaping over its attack, I brought Chaoseater across into the side of its head, leaving a long, bleeding gash across its face that ripped through its cheek and dislocated its jaw. It shrieked, and swung at me again, an explosion of flame roaring across the floor as it struck the ground, setting everything it touched aflame. I caught its fist in my own, and drove Chaoseater into its stomach, twisting it around and grinding it further into the Gholen's body as I slammed my gauntlet into the right side of its loosely hanging jaw. In response, it reached out and made an attempt to grab onto me with its free hand, only for me to release my sword to block with my right hand, and then kick Chaoseater's hilt, driving the blade even further into the demon's bowels. The creature let out a low growl as it sprawled forwards, using its hand for support as it struggled to catch its breath. Seeing my chance, I removed Chaoseater from the stomach of the demon and stabbed it through the back of the Gholen's hand, causing it to let out an unholy shriek of pain as it tried to yank its impaled hand away from the blade. I slammed my fist into it again, my sword keeping the demon within reach as I continued to smash the gauntlet-encased hands into the demon's head. Finally, yanking Chaoseater from the Gholen's hand, I leaped up, using its shoulder as a springboard, and drove the sword through the back of its skull, ending its life as I flipped forwards off the demon's shoulders to the ground, sword in hand as the demon began to burn. I glanced back to witness the demon's hate filled eyes glaze over before being consumed by the blaze.

The boy, having eliminated most of the Wickeds, simply gaped at the demon's burning corpse, "that was possibly the most gruesome thing I have ever seen in my entire life. Then again, I'm only fifteen, so I'm not one to talk about my entire life. But," he stabbed another Wicked as he spoke "that was still gruesome and awesome at the same time all the same."

I merely gestured for him to follow, and he complied, managing to keep up with the pace I set. Judging from how he was able to fight in spite of his age and how he wasn't overcome by fear when the fights started, I concluded that he was no stranger to combat. Not the serious kind, anyways, but I could also tell that he had never killed before. He'd killed demons, perhaps, from the stench of the blood that stained his clothing, but never something like a human or an angel. Never something that would cause him guilt. My thoughts continued on until the boy interrupted them "I think we've found our way out."

Before us was a massive gap in the wall, exposing to us what was left of the world. A sickening, nearly toxic stench filled the air around us, the stench of dust and rot mixed with blood, both fresh and clotted, making the storm gray sky almost seem to be the cause. The remaining ruins of the Third Kingdom were in pieces, the result of a combination of destructive demons and age, and massive, claw-like spires jutted out of buildings and the ground alike, as if some gigantic creature had left them there in its struggle to release itself from its prison beneath the earth. Off in the distance, however, was a single building that had not been reduced to ruins; a black tower, larger than anything else in sight. At first glance, it appeared to be a normal construct of the Third Kingdom, besides the black colour that completely encased it. But upon further observation, a demonic visage would become apparent, and then your senses would become scrambled as you continued to stare, transfixed by the tower until you finally managed to drag your gaze from it.

"How long have we been gone?" the youth by my side asked, his voice barely audible as he took in the state of the world around us, a mask of disbelief spreading slowly across his face.

"I'm finding myself asking that very same question," I found my gaze making its way across the ground, taking the positions of the enemy into account as I judged how difficult it would be to simply jump from here.

"In earth years?" the Watcher appeared, floating about as he surveyed the area before us with interest, "about a century. Long enough for the last of the mouth-breathers to die off," he shot a glare at the boy, "well, most of them, at least."

"Then… the Third Kingdom is lost…" I trailed off, and heard the Watcher give a yelp of surprise.

I turned my gaze to see the child gripping the parasite by the throat with both of his hands, his face a crossroads of disbelief and anger as he forced the Watcher to face him, "tell me you're lying."

"What did you say?" the Watcher asked slowly, unsure of how to deal with his predicament.

"Tell me you're lying!" the boy shouted, tightening his grip on the Watcher's neck. The wretch gave a choke as the youth continued "there's no way that I'm the last one! This has got to be some twisted joke of yours! You think that this is funny?" he continued to tighten his grip as he bit out the words, completely cutting off all sounds from the Watcher's throat, "you won't think it's so funny when I crush your neck!"

I gave a sigh as the boy continued to strangle the Watcher, deciding that it was better to just leave him to his own devices for a time. Finding yourself to be among the last of your kind was something that was nearly unbearable for me, let alone a mere child… wait. He was strangling the parasite?

My gaze returned to their quarrel, the Watcher having freed himself and was making an attempt at vengeance, his clawed hands inches from the boy's neck as the youth fought back, barely keeping the Watcher at bay. If he could get his hands on the Watcher…

It was now that the building around us began to quake, the foundations rocking about as pieces of the place began to collapse. Grabbing onto the boy again, I leaped out over the ruined crossroads below, the construct falling upon itself as the Wickeds below vainly tried to escape the avalanche of rock.

I landed on one knee on the concrete below, launching dust into the air as the ground cracked beneath me. The boy jumped off my back, eager to have his feet on the ground again, turning to me again after a few seconds, "I thought I told you to warn me before you did something like that!"

I simply got to my feet, and began walking towards what appeared to be a giant stone gate before a somewhat intact building. I heard the youth give a severe curse as he kicked at a rock before following again, his breath coming in harsh gasps, the Watcher snickering at the boy's anger and frustration all the while.

I had only gotten a few steps towards the building before another sound made my ears twitch. It was a raspy, diseased voice, one that sounded like the spawn of a hissing snake that had decided to breed with leaves that rustled about in the wind. It gave a low chuckle before speaking, a tone of interest in its voice, "subtle."

A light blue flame appeared an instant before the demon. Dark blue scales encased its form, from the giant clawed hands to the shriveled wings on its back, wrapped in cloth in certain places for no reason that I could discern. A purple cloth with gold lines decorating the sides hung from a gold crown-like decoration upon its forehead that fixed itself to twin horns that jutted out from the twin holes in the gold, and a similar, plain purple cloth adorned it around the neck, held in place by a pendulum with twin hooks hanging from it, but besides that, its torso was bare. Two more horns that seemed far too big for the demon's body rose up from either side of its skull, and its hideous face reminded me eerily of the demon that had nearly killed me before my time before the Council. Its jaws were filled to the brim with misshapen teeth, one fang in particular jutting up past its jaw, nearly level with the single, diamond shaped hole that was apparently the nose on the demon's face, the other fang appearing to have been torn out a long time ago. A trio of horns jutted out from the underside of the demon's chin. A gold gauntlet-like claw encased the demon's right hand, gold rings encircling all the fingers of the other, with blue cloth encasing both arms from the elbows to the wrists, and a gold and blue plate armour belt similar to that of an archangel wrapped around its waist with several forms of wares hanging from it, a jar of souls, scrolls of power – mere trinkets compared to what the demon really had to offer to those who could afford it. Beneath its waist, however, its tattered purple robes merely trailed off into blue mist, leaving the legless demon to hover in the air in a similar way to the Watcher. A distinct distaste formed in my mouth at the reminder of how the Council's watchdog had been bound to me as the demon spoke again "I almost didn't hear you coming."

"Vulgrim," I acknowledged.

The demon spun around me and faced me again, flexing its hands that were the very objects of avarice, "the Council finally took me seriously. If so, you're surely not empty handed…" Vulgrim switched directions and spun around me again, his tone lowering to one of considerable disdain, "or this shall be the briefest of introductions."

I merely raised my gauntlet, and it began to glow with a similar blue flame before, when I'd first absorbed the souls into my arm. Vulgrim's face twisted with pleasure as the souls began to separate into the air, one by one, and then flew into his gaping jaws. His arms stretched out until he was spread eagled in the air, his head leaned back as more and more souls entered his drooling maw at faster and faster speeds until it finally stopped. His head lowered as he let out a small hiss, before raising it to meet my gaze again.

"Mmmm…" Vulgrim brought his hands to eye level, flexing them as if getting ready to strangle someone, "there were… a few young ones…" his hideous grin widened, "spectacular!"

Then something else caught his interest. He went past me, light intrigue glinting in the green orbs that made up the demon's eyes, "and what do we have here?"

I turned to check what had caught his eye. I felt my jaw set when I saw him approach the boy, who had his knife drawn again, keeping his eyes on the demon before him. His eye twitched, and his grip on the knife continued to tighten as a look of disgust appeared on his face, "well, that explains a lot. But it doesn't explain what gives those Council idiots the gall to use souls as currency."

"Ah, so you know of the Council?" Vulgrim gave a nod of interest, "and you are also travelling with the Horseman as the last of the Third Kingdom…" the demon grinned, "interesting indeed. But you are still nothing more than a human. Weak, easily corrupted, but clever."

Vulgrim turned back to me as he rose into the air, "you seek the power behind the one called 'Destroyer?'" he spun around me again, "you will find the answers and the font of his power…" he rose far above me into the air, and pointed towards the horizon, "there."

I followed his gaze, and saw that he was pointing towards the demonic black tower in the distance. I heard the child mutter something about cliché, and then I started in the direction of the stone gate.

"Well, we know where to look now. Let's go," the boy spoke, his voice shaken by the sight of Vulgrim's voraciousness when it came to the souls of the dead.

"Oh… such haste to die?" the demon merchant got in my path, his hands up as if to stop me, before going around me and appearing by my shoulder, "you aren't even a shadow of your former self, and the boy is a mere child," he put a golden claw to my face as the youth's knife hand gave a light twitch, though if Vulgrim noticed the subtle threat, he didn't show it, "you wouldn't last a heartbeat."

Though I felt rage flare at the last bit, I knew perfectly well he was right, and this was no time for foolish pride. But the fact that he was including the youth in this… the demon had directed it at the both of us, obviously assuming that the boy was in my care.

"What happens to the boy is of none of my concern. The only reason I have let him accompany me this far is because he helped sway the Council into giving me a chance at punishing the ones responsible for this. After this, he shall be on his own," I felt my teeth grate against each other as I spoke, and felt the Watcher give a sigh of relief.

_"At least you have _some _sense in that head of yours. The brat would only have slowed us down,"_ the parasite's thoughts reverberated through my mind as the boy shot a glare of confusion and anger, but returned his gaze to Vulgrim, who merely shrugged as he moved away from me.

"Ah, but that is beside the point, now isn't it? Boy or no, the way to the tower is protected by powerful demon magics. Even _I_ do not know the way."

"Then who does?"

Vulgrim's gaze shot to the boy, who was running his fingers along the blade of his knife, his body twitching, his eyes narrowed and jaw set. His voice was cold and clear, almost echoing as he asked the question.

"And why would you be interested? You are merely a human. Or do you have other motives?" Vulgrim's voice grew cold at the last bit of his statement as he approached the boy, placing his golden claw up to his face as if in accusation.

The boy smacked the claw to the side as he bit out his answer, "spare me the cheap theatrics. The reason I want to go to the tower is vengeance. I'm going to kick this Destroyer guy's ass, and rip his eyeballs out of their sockets so I can make him watch his body burn. After all, it's his fault the Apocalypse even started to begin with."

There was silence for a long few seconds. In my mind, the Watcher laughed, a hideous, sadistic laughter that would love nothing more than to watch the boy attempt and fail, over and over again, _" I'd tell him to quit joking, but he really thinks that he can do it,"_ his laughter was interrupted by the words the parasite barely managed to spit out, _"what a fool. What a God damn fool."_

"And how do you expect to do that? You're barely a match for a Minion, if that. How do you expect to stand against the Destroyer?" I don't know why I asked the question. If I were to attempt to guess, I would say that it was intrigue more than anything else.

"Well, if I'm not strong enough," the boy's glare turned itself on me again, "I'm just going to have to get stronger, now won't I?"

Another silence.

I gave a slow nod, and turned back to the demon merchant, "now, answer the question, Vulgrim. Who knows the way to the tower?"

"Feed my hunger," the demon flexed his fingers again, and a blue flame appeared between them, encasing something that was barely visible through the fire, before bringing his hands together, extinguishing the flame and making the object disappear, "and I'll feed your curiosity."

I grated my teeth. It was clear what he wanted. More souls. Vulgrim gave a chuckle as the circular pedestal he floated above ignited in blue fire, and he sank into the flame, the pedestal sealing itself shut as he disappeared.

"Damn manipulative bastard," the boy picked up a rock, and threw it at the nearest Wicked. As the thing's bones had been weakened from years of decay, its skull merely splattered into pieces as the rock collided with it. With that, it fell to the ground, burning.

I drew Chaoseater and started towards the closest group of Wickeds. This was going to be a _long_ hunt…


	4. An Imprisonment Broken

I do not own Darksiders. If I did, then you're reading what would have happened.

* * *

WAR

I brought my blade down upon the head of the final demon in the area, crushing it in a splash of blood and gore as its soul was absorbed into the gauntlet. Up until then, I had been watching the boy fight, trying to figure out what about the youth caught my interest. His fighting style was obviously self-taught, based on a balance of speed, strength, and agility, the main tactic being dodging an attack, and going in for the kill once an opening presented itself. Whenever he did attack, he lashed out at the points of the body that were either lethal, or at the very least were permanently crippling when wounded. He only blocked when dodging was not an option, and had a habit of stabbing his knife into specific nerve clusters or joints of his opponents – a tactic he may have picked up in previous fights, before he had to resort to lethal force. Either way, it was an effective strategy, making it easy for him to finish his prey once he incapacitated it.

"We have enough souls to feed Vulgrim's hunger," the Watcher appeared beside me again, hovering over the burning corpse of a Wicked, "now maybe he'll 'feed our curiosity.'"

"Well that's a relief. I was beginning to wonder if that slaughter fest had any point," the youth sighed, "though I do have to wonder. What about souls makes them so appealing to demons?"

Brushing the question aside, I made my way back to where Vulgrim had first appeared. The demon eagerly consumed the souls, drool dripping from his jaws as he consumed them one by one.

"That's like sex for you, isn't it?" the boy asked, eyeing the demon merchant warily.

Ignoring the child, Vulgrim wiped away the spittle from his jaws, and pointed at the stone gate that had attached itself to the building ahead, "these ancient Gates have a mind of their own," he held out his claw, and a flash of blue light filled it, before fading to blue flame and letting it float towards me, an object encased in the fire, "but with THIS... you may reach... an understanding."

I grabbed the object from the air and examined it thoroughly as the flame dissipated. I bit into the side of my tongue to keep myself from cursing as I recognized it as an Earthcaller, a special war horn designed in the ancient days to keep the Guardians – also known as the Gates, and one of the most ancient races of the Old Ones, perhaps even more so than the nephilem – under the control of whoever wielded it. They should have been destroyed millennia ago, when the Council forced a truce upon Heaven and Hell. The Guardians had nothing to do with the war, yet they were used by both sides as siege weapons until the Council brought the truce, forced to participate in a war they had wanted nothing to do with. After the truce had been forged, the Guardians had been free, the Earthcallers destroyed – or so everyone had thought.

_It certainly explains why the Guardians had suddenly reappeared during the EndWar, _I thought bitterly, taking in the horn's design. As with all Earthcallers, it had been made of the stone of a dead Guardian – exactly what brought the Guardians that still lived under the control of the horn. It had been forged to resemble a multi-headed demon, the jaws gaping and the skull exposed so that the horn looked like it had been made of a demon's fleshless corpse. It had a roughly snakelike design, the heads on either side of the main head making a sort of hood similar to that of a cobra, and on the top of the horn, bone gradually mixed with scales until the grip was made entirely of scales. Vulgrim must have gone through much trouble in order to get his claws on this.

"Beyond the Gate, seek out Samael's prison," Vulgrim hissed, a secretive pleasure in his voice.

I flinched slightly at the name. Samael. Lucifer. The Great Red Dragon. The Dark Prince. Besides my brother, Death, Samael had been the only one to ever best me in combat, back when the Charred Council had first appeared to force the truce upon Heaven and Hell. Initially, both sides of the conflict refused, and so the Council sent the Horsemen forth to quell the war. I fought with the Dark Prince on the field of battle, and nearly died as a result. If Death hadn't arrived as Samael raised his sword... either way, Samael had been a truly mighty warrior, both as the Dark Prince and as the Holy General. If he'd been imprisoned, then the Destroyer, his right hand general, must have betrayed him in the EndWar at some point.

"Once, Samael was close in power to the Destroyer, the current Dark Prince himself," Vulgrim began to descend into the circle of blue flame, "some might even say... a threat."

"Which is why the Destroyer imprisoned him, right?" the youth asked, "the Destroyer wanted the title of Dark Prince for himself, so during the Apocalypse, he betrayed Samael, took everything for himself, and locked Samael up so that he wouldn't be a threat again."

"Exactly," Vulgrim smirked, "you truly are a clever one," he returned his gaze to me, "you will find that Samael is no friend of the Destroyer. Seek me out after you have gathered more souls."

Even as I turned and started towards the Gate, Earthcaller in hand, Vulgrim finished his promise as he sank into the cobalt fire "I will make it worth your while."

I stopped a few feet before the gate, shifting my weight slightly as the boy came up beside me.

"So how do we open this thing?" he glanced up at me.

I merely brought the Earthcaller to my lips, and an ear-splitting blast of sound erupted from the end of the war horn, shaking the dust from the Gate and making the boy cringe, hands clamped over his ears.

"Warn me the next time you do that," he bit out through grated teeth, hands still clamped over his ears, "frick, that hurt."

As if in response to what the boy said rather than the sound of the horn, a blue circle lit up in the center of the hole in the stone Gate before compressing into an orb of light. As quickly as it had lit up, however, the light disappeared, and the stone split in two. The brick walls separated from one another and lifted up into the air, revealed to be the backs of massive, stony arms. A huge, bulky body leaned forwards from where the place was once blocked off, a gaping, yet grated hole in the center of its chest with a blue sphere pulsating inside of it like a heart. Its shoulders had multiple plates of stone like armour, and a multitude of iron spires stuck out of its back, each one having been forced in like nails into wood, each connected to a thick, rusted chain. Its legs were short, only about half the length of its massive arms, and the Guardian's head was nearly featureless, just a simple pair of glowing blue eyes over a split in the rock that made up its mouth. Its voice was stony, low and nearly monotone as it spoke, but obviously deep with emotion, "the Horn call of my ancestors," it rumbled, giving a pause of remembrance to the dead that made up the Earthcaller, "awakened at last from the dreamless sleep," dust fell from the Gate's body as it shifted its body, "then... we are free?"

I heard the youth beside me start muttering frantically under his breath, scarcely able to believe what his eyes were telling him. I snarled "none are free while the Destroyer still breathes."

"Hmmmm..." a low rumble escaped the throat of the Guardian as it rose to its full height, straining against the chains that bound it, "the Destroyer, yes... to his service we are bound, though enemies we remain," it clenched its fist, tinges of remorse and bitterness staining its voice, "so his enemies we call friend."

Now straining with all its might against the chains, the Guardian took one painful step forwards. It continued to fight until finally, one of the chains snapped. Then, like a domino effect, the other chains began to snap as the Guardian took another step, the sounds of metal twisting and buckling filling the air until every chain had broken. Then the Guardian began forwards, its feet cracking open the ground every time it took a step, "pass now, friends. Must bring victory. Must bring freedom. Must restore the Kingdom that was lost."

The Watcher revealed himself again as we watched the Guardian lumber away, "if _that _was the gate, I can't WAIT to find out what's behind it!" he rubbed his claws together in eagerness, then disappeared back into my gauntlet.

"Restore the Kingdom that was lost... does he mean me?" the boy inquired.

I turned around, and proceeded up to the wooden door before us, kicking it open with ease and sending the doors flying into the room ahead. We passed on through what appeared to be a ruined library, the shelves either weak from age or broken, the floor shattered with small craters all around filled with shallow pools of water, the walls and roof broken and full of demons and Wickeds. To say the least, the fights were long and bloody, always resulting with something being completely broken in the end. After breaking down a second set of doors, we were confronted with a shattered city, even more broken than the one where we had met Vulgrim. Moving ahead, I saw exactly what we were looking for.

"Don't tell me that's..." the boy trailed off.

I merely nodded in response. Twin rows of the gigantic claw-like, demonic spikes edged the sides of the bridge that spanned over the moat of lava hundreds of feet below. A mountain of black rock towered over the moat in the center of the river of lava, cutting off like a plateau with a ring of the claw-like spikes surrounding it on the edges like an arena of sorts, with chains connecting the seven largest spikes to each other and to the earth across the gorge of a moat. A trio of draconic gargoyles sat at the base of the three largest pillars, one of them spewing a crimson liquid down one of the notches to the center seal – blood, no doubt. Normal concrete turned into blackened rock upon contact with the bridge, and continued until it made contact with the mountain of an island, the floor-like surface having been carved with scenes of battle and destruction, every act of evil imaginable decorating the surface of the floor until it reached the center circle of the island. But the largest carving, the notches dug deep into the stone, was made up of all the others to create the symbol of Samael – a depiction of the Dark Prince's head according to the thoughts of man.

I started across the bridge, the boy's footfalls silencing behind me as I heard the distinct sound of a blade being drawn from a sheath. Then nothing, though the boy clearly persisted to keep right behind me. It was obviously instinctual; erase your breath and footfalls when you feel threatened, and keep a constant guard, your weapon ready. Both Strife and Death had the same instinct when it came to battle, though the latter never allowed his breath to be heard to begin with.

When I stepped off the bridge onto the carvings I finally noticed the lone figure on the prison before me. Standing with its back to us, the demon was only slightly taller than I was, wearing a dark red set of jagged plate armor its massive shoulder guards tipped with jagged rocks. A jagged, two handed axe hung from its right hand, swinging about as it turned towards me.

"Drum heim gol straga bor," its gravelly voice grated on my ears as I took a good look at the Phantom's face. Its skull was vaguely humanoid, with stretched blue skin over jagged bone and short horns sticking out the back of its head, and light lines decorating the wrinkles that resulted in the skin from stretching it out so far. The front of its bulky breastplate was decorated with the skull of a ram, similar in style to the engraved ground beneath me. It took an instant for me to recognise that the demon was speaking Infernal; 'you have killed many of my warriors.'

"What the Hell did he just say?" the boy asked.

Ignoring him, I responded to the demon, "non straga sindora," my voice came out in a similar, echoing tone to that of the demon before me as the translation echoed through my mind, 'I have yet to find a warrior among you.'

A small laugh escaped the demon's lipless jaws, before opening its mouth to speak immediately as the boy let out a snarl "will you stop speaking in gibberish and start speaking english?"

There was a short silence as the demon stared at the boy, unable to make up its mind whether to demand respect, kill itself with laughter, or just shut down from the sheer ridiculousness of what had just happened. A child, no older than a young adolecent, had just demanded that it speak a language that he understood, not even bothering to consider the power that the demon before him possessed, and, from the look on his face, didn't really seem to care. All the tension in the air just disappeared as the demon continued to stare, and I began to wonder if its brain really _had _just shut down. Then the demon shifted uncomfortably, shaking its head in disbelief before turning its attention back to me, attempting to bring back the threatening aura it once had, "do you know what is imprisoned here?" its tone was dark, forbidding, almost fearful of the being it was apparently guarding – and if Vulgrim was telling the truth, then the demon had every right to be afraid, "there are things even YOU should fear, Horseman," it pulled what remained of its lips into a hideous grin as it pointed its axe at me, "once you were strong. But now you are weak, and you are alone. All except for a mere human boy."

I grated my teeth against each other as the demon continued, clenching its clawed gauntlet into a fist, "the Destroyer knows of your coming. Even now, he moves his legions against you!"

"Then I'll make this quick," I drew Chaoseater, and stepped towards the demon, an aura of bloodlust beginning to fill the air. The demon threw its head back in response, and unleashed an ear-splitting roar from its jaws, and fire erupted between the surrounding spikes, encircling the place to make sure that neither me nor the boy could escape.

"Was there really any point in sealing us in here?" the boy asked. I gave a light shrug before charging the Phantom General, swinging Chaoseater in a large arc, only to have it blocked by the gigantic axe in the demon's hands. The Phantom gave a grunt before swinging his axe in a circle in response, making me back up a few steps before it bore down on me, swinging its axe downwards. I blocked with Chaoseater, teeth grit as I went on one knee beneath the demon's axe.

The boy then leaped up onto my shoulders, climbed up on top of the demon's axe, and then jumped forwards onto the Phantom's hand. Not sparing a second, he shot forwards, just barely dodging the Phantom's swat as he brought his knife into the demon's skull, letting out an annoyed shout as blood sprayed from the demon's face, "this is why no matter how weak one seems in comparison to the other, we pay attention to BOTH opponents if fighting two at once!"

The Phantom howled, grabbing onto the side of its bleeding head and its grip on the axe loosening slightly, the axe itelf moving away from my blade. In response, I brought Chaoseater up into the side of the demon's head as the boy leaped away, catching the demon with the flat of the blade and sending it crashing to earth.

I glanced at the boy, and he grinned, the new blood on his face making him look like a psychopath, "I took a couple leaves from the book of a parkour master I knew at one point. There's no way I'm letting this guy get me."

The demon got to its feet, hatred blazing in the single eye it had left and blood flowing from the bloody gash that was once an eye socket. It brought its fist into the ground, and four flaming circles opened up around it, with smaller versions of the Phantom climbing out of them, each with little more than black armour on its legs, desecrated blue wings sprouting from the backs of their bare torso, and scythes that were in similar design to the Harvester, Death's own scythe. If Death knew that these demons had taken a liking to the design of his scythe, he would give them a demonstration on how effective the design was... with the demons being the main part of the demonstration.

"BRING ME THEIR HEADS!" the general roared, and the soldiers surrounded me and the boy.

"On my back. Now," the youth nodded, and clambered up onto my shoulder as I raised Chaoseater, and stabbed it into the ground. Immediately as the blade struck the ground, a multitude of blades erupted from the earth around me, striking the Phantom Guards and killing them on impact, sending them soaring through the air, burned to nothing more than ash and dust before they hit the ground.

The Phantom roared, and charged forwards as the blades sank back into the rock, bringing its axe downwards as the boy leaped again from my shoulders and grabbed onto the demon's arm. The Phantom lashed out again, trying to get the boy with little success as the child clambered along its body, before standing up on its shoulders and plunging his knife into the demon's remaining eye. The demon let out a hoarse scream of pain, swinging the axe about wildly as the boy leaped back down from its shoulders. Seeing my chance, I dodged a swing, and brought Chaoseater down on the axe, before lifting it again and severing the demon's arm.

The Phantom let out another weak roar, and the boy flinched, "need a hand?" he joked, dark humor seeming to be a natural part of his personality.

"YOU BASTARDS!" the demon shouted, "DAMN YOU! DAMN THE FILTHY LOT OF YOU!"

"Shut your mouth," I snorted, taking the axe and swinging it into the demon's other arm, severing it from his body before using the axe to knock the Phantom flat on its stomach, "your screaming is only making you look even more pathetic than what you already are."

I raised the axe above my head. Though the demon could no longer see, it somehow sensed my intentions, "mercy," it croaked hoarsely, "please... mercy... don't kill-"

I cut it off as I brought the axe down into its back, causing a massive spray of blood to pour out like a fountain. As the demon screamed in agony, it began to burn, and I gave a snort of disdain, "warriors, no matter how pathetic they may be, should never beg for mercy. Once you don the armour and weapons of a warrior, you accept the reality that there will be no mercy for you once you come across an opponent more powerful than you are. Begging for mercy will only bring you dishonor in death."

Even as I finished my sentance, the body crumbled to ash, the last remaining embers dying out in the dust. I glanced about, taking note of the trio of dragonic gargoyles that surrounded the symbol that made up the ground.

"Just ONE hideous, blood puking gargoyle?" the Watcher manifested again, glancing about and taking note of the river of blood that ran down from the mouth of the center gargoyle and down through the runes and pictures underfoot that made up the pentagram that represented Samael's head, "the plumbing must be stopped up..."

"I wouldn't call them hideous," the boy walked up to one, inspecting it with an obvious interest, "I'd actually say that these look kind of cool."

I shook my head as I took a look for myself at the gargoyles, shuddering as the memories of my battle with the Dark Prince returned to me. The gargoyles were carved in the likeness of miniature versions of the draconic transformation of the Dark Prince, with a somewhat cat-like body with scales carved into it, a demonic, sharpened head with its massive jaws gaping open and a massive, sheild-like crest curving along its back. Twin wings curved outwards fromt the thing's back, and a long, whip-like tail trailed down the back of the pedastal it stood on.

Not wasting any more time than I had to, I grabbed onto the side of the gargoyle's pedastal and dragged it over the gaping hole that it had stood on at some point. Almost immediately, blood began pouring out of the dragon's mouth and down a small chute into the symbols, eventually coming down to the circle in the center. As if in response, a massive roar shook the prison, making the chains rattle and the loose pieces of rock roll uncontrollably across the ground.

As I started towards the next gargoyle, the boy spoke up, "whoa, whoa, whoa. Are you sure that it's a good idea to be feeding whatever's trapped underneath here?"

"Aww, what happened to all that bravado that you had when we spoke with Vulgrim? When you said that you'd take down the Destroyer?" the Watcher sneered as I grabbed onto the side of the third and final gargoyle.

"I meant it when I said that!" the boy shouted, "I'm just not so sure that this guy is the first person we should be going to to get some help with this! He's the devil! Who says that he won't rip out our throats the minute we let him out?"

I gave the gargoyle one last shove as the boy finished. Blood poured out of the thing's jaws and down into the center, with every rune and picture inscribed in the ground glowing a dark, infernal red with the crimson liquid. Another roar was let out as the center circle broke into three parts, and opened up, allowing the blood to flow down freely into the pit of flame and darkness that it revealed. I grated my teeth as a familiar miasma of equal parts fear, hate and power rippled through the air, and prepared myself for the second coming of Samael.


	5. The Hunt Begins

I do not own Darksiders. If I did, Samael would be the ruler of Hell, and he and Lucifer would be one and the same.

* * *

BLAKE

You know that song "Big Red Machine?" The one that describes the wrestler Kane? Well, when I find the wicked that was Kane, I am going to kick its ass with _extreme _prejudice. Kane is not the "mother****ing devil," I'm telling you that right now. The instant that door opened, I felt an aura of incredible power and malice shoot through the air and weigh it down like the air was made of lead. I could barely keep up on my feet, could hardly even breathe, the air was suddenly so dense. Open flame and tendrils of shadow leaped up from the empty hole in the center of the pentagram-like design, and as War, seemingly unaffected by the aura of evil around us, approached the opening, a voice sounded.

"War! Are you here to play executioner?" the voice sent a multitude of chills down my spine as it spoke out. It was like the dull roar of an infernal waterfall combined with a vaguely human, echoing demonic snarl. On the last word, a multitude of bats flew out of the darkness of the pit, surrounded by a cloak of flame and accompanied by something huge, wrapped in a pair of massive, clawed... wings? As soon as the thought shot through my head, the inverted, vaguely draconic wings unfurled, revealing the figure within as it landed. While I had seen a lot of interpretations of the devil, the real deal definitely took the cake for the most terrifying thing I had ever seen in my life. The demon before me was more than eighteen feet in height, towering over War with a certain ease. A multitude of horns crowned his head, a pair of pronged horns like an elk's antlers going down from his forehead, multiple jutting out of his chin like a sort of beard, with two massive horns, the right one bigger than the left, twisting up into the air and tipped with metal like a pair of blades. The demon's skin ranged from a light beige on his chest to a dark, bloody crimson on his wings and back, with dark pattens like a tatoo making its way across its exposed right arm, ending just above the elbow. A dark blue gauntlet emblazoned with gold adorned his right hand all the way up to his elbow, and from its left shoulder down across its torso, plate armour that seemed to be a mix of both angelic and demonic in style had been nailed into its body, with dark, painful looking scars littering the area all around where the armour connected with the skin, with multiple jagged, golden plates adorning the shoulder. Chains wrapped around the demon's waist, keeping in place a sheild-like piece of metal adorned with a golden skull covered the demon's right leg, over top of a series of chains that made their way down a piece of a ragged, dark blue cloak that copletely covered the demon's leg, and though both legs were covered by a dark blue set of greaves that ended just above his ankle, and draconic talons made up the demon's feet. A thick, lashing tail trailed down from the demon's back, spiked, bloody red, and over eight feet long. The demon's face was the main thing that scared me, though; it was vaguely humanoid, with many creases all throughout, no doubt caused by unquenchable rage and cruel laughter, and glowing, infernal eyes, the whites turned pure black like coal, and flaming irises that literally burned with malice and hatred with no visible pupil. The demon opened its mouth to speak again, "they should have sent all four of you."

"I have no interest in killing you, Samael," War's words confimed my silent fears and denied my silent pleas that this was not who I thought it was.

"Ha! The Destroyer?" the devil spat the name out as he jestured towards the tower in the distance, his teeth bared, and tail lashing about wildly, "he is beyond your reach. Beyond mine."

"Has prison made you a coward?"

My heart skipped a beat as Samael got right up in War's face and unleashed a roar that seemed to be a cross between the battle cry of a dragon and a demonic war horn in response to the Horseman's challenge, sparks and flame launching themselves from the demon's gaping jaws. And, call me crazy, but I could have sworn that I saw War smirk slightly for an instant before returning to his stoic, expressionless... expression.

Samael's roar slowly faded, and a smirk crossed his face as he continued "perhaps there is a way. But you will need to get into the Destroyer's Spire," the demon leaned forwards to look eye to eye with War, his head more than twice as big as the Horseman's, "the Tower is guarded by five of his Chosen.* Bring me their hearts, and ask me no questions," Samael returned to his full hieght, clenching his fists as he spoke again, "my reasons for helping you are my own."

I swallowed, then worked up my courage, cutting off War as he began to speak, "so where can we find these 'Chosen' guys?"

Samael slowly turned to face me, and the instant his eyes locked with mine, waves of hate and malice alike shot through me. Those eyes showed me things; a battlefield, slowly burning itself to the ground, brutally mutilated corpses strewn throughout; a chamber filled with rotting corpses and the screams of the prisoners that were still alive as they were tortured; a man being skinned alive, and then stuffed inside a bag made of his own skin. More and more of similar images and scenes flooded my mind, until I bit hard into the side of my tongue. My pulse sluggishly slowed as blood began to fill my mouth, along with ringing pain. Samael's eyes narrowed, "using pain to overpower fear. A clever, but reckless strategy. And you are?"

"My name is Blake, and I am, according to both the Charred Council and Watchy," the Watcher manifested again, sheer anger and hatred gleaning in his eyes as I continued "the last of the Third Kingdom."

There was a short silence before Samael approached me. Before I could react, his clawed gauntlet gripped onto my skull, big enough to completely encase my head, and lifted me more than six feet off the ground. I felt my body burn as it went rigid, totally unable to move, and something began to probe my mind and memories, sifting through them as if searching for something. Slowly, the burning stopped, and Samael spoke again, "so, along with the Horseman, the final member of the human race approaches with the intent of killing the Destroyer," he abruptly let go of me, and I fell hard on my back. I swore under my breath as I rubbed at the aching pain in my back, and the demon let out a harsh chuckle, "already having killed demons on his own. And yet with little to no hope of avenging his fallen race."

"I'm getting tired of hearing that," I spat the excess blood out of my mouth into the river of blood that flowed beside me, my fear replaced with anger, "now answer my question. Where do we start looking?"

"There isn't any point in telling you," Samael turned his attention back to War as he spoke, "you're barely strong enough to fight a Minion on your own. You wouldn't be ready to fight one of the Chosen if you trained for the rest of your miserable little life."

I felt my eyes narrow as the demon focused all his attention on War. My hand trailed to my knife, and as soon as I grasped the hilt, the next instant was nothing more than a blur. The next thing I knew, I was glaring up at Samael, a look of curiosity on his face as he stared at where my knife had impaled his arm, straight through the metal that made up the gauntlet on his right hand. Blood dripped lightly from the blade, some making its way onto my hand where I held the hilt in a death-grip. Yanking out the knife, I leaped backwards away from the demon, who's gaze went from his arm, to my knife, to me. War merely stared, his expression nearly unreadable besides the flame in his eyes, and the way his jaw was set, the same questions in his eyes going through my mind.

"Interesting," he nodded slowly as the bleeding stopped and his armour repaired itself, small flames licking at where my knife had struck, "never has a mere human drawn blood against me. Perhaps there is more to you than what I had thought," I edged a bit closer to War, blood continuing to drip from my knife.

Samael held out his hand, and images began shooting through my mind as he spoke again, "as for the Chosen, first, seek the Twilight Cathedral, where the Bat Queen Tiamat has gone to roost," I smirked as both Batman and Twilight jokes began circling through my head, but then were abruptly cut off by the vision of a massive church-like building that suddenly stood before me. Thunder from the surrounding storm echoed all around me, with rain and lightning constantly falling to earth from every direction. Atop one of the many spires that adorned the building, what looked like a giant, deformed lizard given bat wings leaped into the air, silhouetted against a flash of lightning before I was returned to where I stood, the vision being cut off before I could get a good look at the demonic figure, "the whole of her domain is a blistered inferno. By land, you will never reach it."

I glanced up at War, the look on his face a mixture of anger and determination, obviously having seen the vision as well. Samael opened his hand, and a dark energy similar to that of the Watcher, "find the high ground with this," he released it, and black wings comprised completely of shadow sprung out from War's back. He hovered in midair for an instant before the wings disappeared, shrinking into his back within an instant, leaving no trace that they even existed before Samael finished, "and bring me her still beating heart!"

With that, the demon folded his wings around himself, and a circle of flame opened beneath him remarkably similar to that of the ones that the soldiers had dragged themselves out of, and he sank into it, the flame disappearing as soon as he had gone.

War started down the bridge again, and I started after him, intent on helping in any way I could. Almost immediately as I began moving, War stopped and turned to me, "don't follow me."

I blinked hard, confused for an instant, "say what?"

"You heard me, boy. Stop following me."

His words to Vulgrim echoed in my ears as he turned and kept walking. I grated my teeth before yelling "hey wait, hold up!" The Horseman ignored me and kept moving. I ran slightly past him and got in his path, "I said wait a minute, you jerk!"

He glared down at me, fire burning in his eyes as he spoke "what happens to you is none of my concern. You aren't my responsibility. Now get out of my way, boy."

"That's not my point!" I shook my head hard, never breaking contact with the pure blue orbs that made up his eyes, "I can take care of myself no problem! What my point is-"

"You can survive on your own, but you have no hope of surviving an encounter with a demon any stronger than that of a Minion," the Horseman cut me off, his hand twitching slightly, "bringing you along will only slow me down. Now for the last time, get out of my way, boy. Or I will cut you down right where you stand."

"Oh, so you let me tag along all the way here, and now you're just going to ditch me?" I shouted, "if that was what you were going to do all along, then you should have just left me there in that building we crashed into!"

War simply stood there, silent, and for an instant I wondered if I had gone too far. It took me a minute to realize that he was lost in thought. The Watcher manifested again, and urged him, "come on, Horseman. We don't have time for this brat. Let's go. I want to get this over with as soon as possible."

Ignoring the shadow that had lodged itself in his arm, War returned his gaze to me, "all right. You already have my attention, so I'm going to make you a deal."

"Yeah?" my ear twitched as soon as the words left his mouth, and the anger in me dissipated.

"I'll let you come with me until I've taken Tiamat's heart. If you can prove to me that you're worth my time and effort by then, I'll take you on as an apprentice," the Horseman crossed his arms, a smirk pulling at the sides of his mouth.

"WHAT?" the Watcher practically shrieked at War.

"Okay. What's the catch?" I asked.

"I will not give you any feedback as to what I think of you until I've taken Tiamat's heart. You will be kept in the dark until I have made my decision," I felt my jaw set in annoyance as he continued, "if you fail to prove that you are worth my time and effort by the time I have collected the first Chosen's heart, then I will, as you put it, 'ditch you,' and be on my way, and you will not follow me. Do we have a deal?"

"YOU DO NOT HAVE A DEAL! I VETO THIS DECISION-"

"Done," I cut the Watcher off with that single word, a smirk on my face as the Watcher's eyes twitched.

War nodded, "then let's get going," he brushed past me without another word, and I kept pace, wondering just what was in store for us at the Twilight Cathedral Samael had told us about.

* * *

* I'm adding one more Chosen to the mix. Bet you can't guess who it is! And for those of you who do know, no spoilers!


	6. A Bet in Souls

I do not own Darksiders. If I did, then the lawyers would not have survived the EndWar (if I still have to do this disclaimer stuff, they obviously survived somehow).

* * *

BLAKE

As we went past the last spikes of the bridge, a familiar voice sent chills down my spine again, "Samael has returned you in one piece. He must like you..."

I whipped about to stare into the hideous face of Vulgrim, light chuckles escaping the demon merchant's jaws as I leaped backwards, startled. He gave another series of chuckles before turning to War, the Horseman's jaw set in annoyance, "what do you want, Vulgrim?"

"A fair question. For my answer, I am merely here on business, nothing more," his trademark grin spread across his face, and I was immediately reminded by his gluttonous taste for souls. I shuddered, before something actually began to come to the surface in my mind; something crazed, absolutely nuts, and extremely hypocritical on my part unless I got a new set of morals. But I actually started to consider it, as Vulgrim created a blue flame similar to that of when he gave War the war horn (note to self; ask about that horn later), except this time around, it was much larger, large enough even to contain War's massive sword. When War reached out and gripped it, the flame dissipated, leaving a massive scythe in his hands. The staff alone was over nine and a half feet long and made from blackened, metallic bone that twisted about, wrapped in strips of torn, stained purple cloth on two places of the grip, and twisting into the shape of a dragon's head on the back of where the blade connected with the bone. Over the pale, reflective blade, which was over six and a half feet long, the metal gleaming like a mirror in moonlight, the bone extended like the bony fingers of a bat's wings over the top of the blade, extending to the honed serrated edge, making it look like a wing. The blade seemed to ring with a certain delight as War held it, a look of disbelief on his face as Vulgrim spoke again, "a certain... customer of mine asked me to deliver that to you. He was very thorough in ensuring my loyalty to my business. Overly paranoid, if you were to ask me, considering the business I've given him in the past. He never told me what the name of the beauty was, though I have drawn my own conclusions."

War hefted the scythe, and swung it through the air into the nearest clawed spike. There was a sound like a high-pitched, yet beautiful sounding ring as War stood there, having gone completely through with the swing, and for an instant, nothing happened. Then the rock split, the top sliding from the bottom and falling into the lava-filled pit below, plunging into the magma and promptly sinking beneath the surface. I felt my gaze go from the rock, which had a perfectly flat surface where the scythe cut into it, nothing dislodged from it, to the scythe, which had absolutely no scratches on its surface, its edge completely unaffected by the feat of cutting straight through stone.

War gave a small smile, as if in remembrance of something, and uttered a single, nearly unintelligible word under his breath, "Death..."

Vulgrim crossed his arms, "now, unless you have business with me, Horseman, my work here is done."

War shook his head, and Vulgrim turned to leave. I remembered my thought from earlier. Not even thinking, I shouted out "hey, wait!"

Vulgrim slowly turned back to face me, a gleam in his eyes, "what do you want?"

I swallowed, thinking over my options. Did I really want to do this? If I did, it would turn me into a hypocrite. But Vulgrim wouldn't accept anything but souls as payment, so in order to do business with him, I had to get a new set of morals. Plus, if I were to only use demons as payment, I'd be giving them a taste of their own medicine.

At that last thought, all my doubt disappeared. I smirked as I spoke, "would there be any way for me to collect souls?"

Vulgrim gave a dark grin, and I felt War's eye trace a line along my back, "deciding to collect souls for business, are we?" Vulgrim got up close in my face, "changing morals so soon? Or do you really believe in what you preach?"

"A bit of the former. If I want to stay alive in this world, I can't really afford to think like a human, now can I?" Vulgrim's eyes widened slightly in surprise, and out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn that I saw War give the slightest nod of approval. I continued, "on top of it, if I were to use demon souls as payment, I'd be giving them a little taste of their own medicine. So it all works out."

Vulgrim simply stared, before giving a long, severe amount of light contortions of laughter, "your logic makes sense. I do have a way for you to collect souls," he created another blue flame, this one quite a bit smaller than the others he'd conjured. Inside this one was what looked like a metal glove of about my size, but I couldn't make out its details through the lashing flame. Almost immediately after he created the fire, he clasped his hands around it, making it disappear, "but what do you have to offer me in return? I don't give out charity to anyone, you know."

He flew around me in a circle, and the next thing I knew, he was holding my knife in his filthy hands, looking it over with interest. I felt my eyes widen, my sight sharpening with sudden anger as a smirk crossed his face. He held my knife in one hand, and manifested the flame-surrounded object with the other, "here is my price. Your knife has caught my interest, so my deal will be your knife for my soul collector. Do we have an agreement?"

In one swift movement, I lashed out, my hand bent into a claw, wrenching the knife from the demon's grip, "no deal," I hissed, "this knife is all I've got left. There's no way I'm trading it for anything, least of all anything from you!"

Vulgrim merely shrugged, and clenched his fist, the flame disappearing again, "then you'll have to go to someone else looking for a way to collect souls. Unless you have a second proposition...?"

I hesitated, giving a moment of thought. Then I grinned as an idea came to mind, "how about this? You loan your 'soul collector' out to me for a certain amount of time to collect a certain amount of souls. If I collect the souls by the time you come around looking for payment, you take the souls, and I keep the soul collector."

Vulgrim scratched at his chin, before making the flame appear again, the gauntlet inside spinning slightly, intrigue growing in his voice and betraying his interest in the deal, "and if you fail?"

"That's for you to decide. This is a bit of a bet, if you will. I've given my terms. You give me yours," I crossed my arms as I waited for him to speak again. It was his turn to hesitate before giving a grin.

"If you fail, then I get to take your soul as well as all the souls you have collected until then as payment for your time using the soul collector," as he spoke, the flame around the gauntlet grew more intense, as if daring me to do it.

I glanced at War, and his stare told me all I needed to know; _be wary about the bargains you make. Be even more wary about who you make them with._

I nodded, and turned back to Vulgrim, "deal."

The demon grinned, and the flame shot to my left arm, the gauntlet encasing it and belting itself around my hand. My arm burned slightly as the gauntlet continued to work, shrinking in some places and lengthening in others, moving along to fit my exact measurements in all regards, and seeming to fuse itself to my flesh as it changed. When it finished, I took a long good look at it as the last of the blue fire disappeared. The entire thing was made of black metal, going along the length of my arm and ending at the elbow. Designs like that of a battle were etched into the metal, with a dragon's skull almost exactly on the same place as the skull on War's gauntlet (hard to tell, considering how big the thing is), right on the back of the hand, except instead of being etched in red, the design was etched in with a white flow, making up all the jointed areas and designs on the gauntlet, all the way up to the clawed fingers. The weird thing was, it didn't feel uncomfortable on my arm at all; rather, I didn't feel it in the slightest, almost like the thing had become a part of my body.

"You are heading to the Twilight Cathedral to take the heart of Tiamat, correct?" Vulgrim spoke, appearing satisfied with our deal, "I will be expecting my payment by the time you obtain the heart. No sooner, no later, I will be expecting two thousand souls worth by that time. I believe that I am being extremely generous with the time I'm giving you, boy, so I don't want to hear any complaints if you fail to bring me the required amount."

"My name is Blake, Vulgrim. I'll expect you to remember that by the time I've gotten you the souls," I pointed the gauntlet at him the same way he did with me, a smirk on my face as he laughed and disappeared again.

I felt a hand clap down hard on my shoulder, and I stared up at War, a dark glint in his eyes, "I hope you know what you're doing."

I stared at the black metal that now encased my left arm, "to be perfectly honest? So do I."

* * *

And that concludes chapter 6. And for those of you going "two thousand souls isn't very much" there are no chests in this story, and you can't get souls from destroying everything around you. Pure demon slaughter or nothing when it comes to obtaining souls in this story.


	7. A General's Rage

I do not own Darksiders. If I did, then Wicked K would actually be important to the story.

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? ? ? ? ?

I took in a breath of the blazing air that surrounded the outside of my citadel, the stifling stench of iron and blood filling my nostrils as I looked over the burning landscape. The Fallen filled the skies like an army of dragons, and Phantom Guards marched along the blackened rock and iron that made up the earth both outside and inside of the demonic fortress I called home, all of them waiting for a command of war; they'd heard the news of the Horseman's return, and were growing restless for battle.

But until I recieved orders from the Destroyer or the Chosen, they went nowhere. And if they tried to rebel, the punishments I would bring upon them would be devastating, even more so than if the Destroyer lost favour in them like he had with Vulgrim; the demon had to float around for a reason now. The wounds had long healed, but all that had remained of the merchant's legs were charred, bleeding stumps after the Destroyer had found out that he had been selling his wares to both sides of the conflict.

I was not about to take the same risk of rebellion... yet. I may be one of the Destroyer's closest and most trusted generals, and that had its perks, but protection from his wrath should he lose his trust in me was not included among them, even if I had been offered a position as one of the Chosen in the past.

I gave a low sigh, running my hand through my black hair, the familiar feeling of rippling muscle beneath the scales that made up the scarred tan skin of my humanoid form sending shivers down my spine and forcing my black, shadow-like wings to stretch outwards to their full span of over twenty feet across, the black tendrils of solid shadow that made them up writhe about like pulsing veins of black blood. Folding them back down into my back again, I stared at my hand, a bitterness on the tip of my tongue as I once again realized all this form was; a costume. A charade. A facade. Nothing more than a mockery created in an attempt to be what I once was; human.

As the thought crossed my mind, rage began to boil within me, making me grit my teeth in an attempt to keep control. But even as I fought to maintain my already limited control, my body had already begun to revert to the ever-shifting semi-solid shadow that it was; the skin of my arm began to blacken before bursting, unraveling on itself before rewinding into a new shape; a gleaming set of pure black serrated claws attached to a vaguely humanoidly shaped black arm made up completely of the shadowy tendrils, the shadow constantly shifting beneath the fragile surface with no truly fixed shape.

I could feel the rest of my body begin to shift when I heard a harsh, yet soothing voice, "still having trouble, general?"

I turned, the ragged familiarity of the voice soothing me enough to reverse the transformation. I felt everything shift back into place as I set my steel-gray eyes on the man in the doorway, one of the few people I felt I could fully trust. Tattered robes hung about him that seemed to be from multiple millenia ago - and knowing him, they probably were, seeing as he refused to wear anything but the robes his Rabbi had ordered him to wear all those years ago. A painful reminder for him, like my human form was to me, I guess, but he wore his to keep himself motivated; I wore mine in a feeble attempt to at least _feel_ human again. Ragged black hair hung low past his shoulders, covering more than half his face behind the tangled mess of grease and filth. The half of his face that was visible was covered in a multitude of scars; burns, cuts, and other mutilations made his face seem to be little more to be a mask. And that was the _good_ half of his face; the half that was covered by his thick, matted hair was so brutally mutilated that even the Destroyer still flinched whenever he thought about the day the man before me had displayed it. His coal-coloured eyes had become pits of darkness, whatever white that remained in them having been taken over by the thorn-like red of his bloodshot viens. A small broken pendant hung from his neck, swinging slightly as he approached, "all these years and you still aren't used to your position."

"How could I be?" I asked, turning back to the landscape as he came to stand beside me, "I was human just before this all began. It's only been a century. Surly you understand that much, Judas Iscariot?"

He shook his head at the name he both kept and wished to forget, then took in a deep breath, before letting it all out in a sigh, "all the same, until this is over, neither of us can think like we once did. We aren't human anymore; there is no point in thinking like one."

"Speaking of things being over," I turned, reaching for the basin of water in the far corner. Another shift in my arm, and it turned to shadows, extending until the thick black rope reached the edge of the basin, where two metal cups stood. Filling both with water, I retracted my arm, enjoying the shift as it returned to its "normal" state, offering a cup to my partner, "is everything ready?"

He took the cup, and drank from it gratefully before setting it down on the edge of the railing that would keep idiot demons from falling to the ground below, "nearly. Everything is in place. All that remains is increasing our numbers. We aren't yet strong enough to complete our goal yet. But there is a small problem."

"Aye?" I asked, feeling my ear twitch as I began listening intently, suddenly holding my cup in a death-grip.

"The Destroyer's bride," his voice was a low hiss, "her curiosity in our... project is getting out of hand."

"Is there any way to make sure she minds her own business?" I inquired, taking a long drink from the cup before returning to the basin for another.

"Not at the moment. She is going to great lengths to find out what we are doing. Her irritability from her unborn child isn't helping the situation either."

I scratched hard at my chin before taking another long series of gulps. Slamming it back down against the stone of the railing, I let out a slight snarl, "I know I need to be patient, but I'm getting just as restless as the soldiers down there. The fact that the Horseman is here could throw everything we've planned out to do completely out of whack. We need to get this over with as soon as we can."

"Patience is a virtue, general. You should know that by now, at least."

I let out another sigh, and the door behind us slammed open. A Phantom rushed in, covered head to toe in sweat as he huffed "general!"

I rolled my eyes as I turned to face the newcomer, "well, someone had better be dying."

"I bring news... horrible news... from the Scalding Gallow," the Phantom forced himself into a salute.

"And what is so interesting about that little hellhole, no pun intended," I glanced at the cup, ready to see how hard it would be to kill a demon with it.

"It has been confirmed... Samael's prison has been opened."

My gaze shot to the Phantom, the frustration in my body giving way to equal parts shock, disbelief and fear, "what?"

The Phantom gave a nervous swallow, backing up a few steps before stating, "S-Samael's prison in the Scalding Gallow has been opened... h-he has been released. R-Reports say that a giant of a man cloaked in red accompanied by a young boy killed the Phantom general you appointed to the prison before releasing Samael. It is assumed that the man was the H-Horseman, the boy's identity is s-still unknown."

"Samael's been released...?" I felt my body go slack, my hand trailing to my cup. When my fingers touched it, I found it to be nothing more than a crushed chunk of metal in my hand, water utterly soaking my hand as I dropped the cup, "THIS HAD BETTER BE SOME KIND OF JOKE!"

The Phantom cringed as it tried to retreat, but fear had it paralyzed, utterly rooted to the floor as I stalked towards it, the intent to kill rolling off of me again and again like the waves of the sea in a storm, "we have not worked for the past century," I hissed, "just so that son of a bitch can be released to ruin everything! Do you have any idea what lengths and pains we have gone to in order to achieve our goal? DO YOU?"

The Phantom let out a whimper as it tried to force itself to move, but to no avail as I finally got in range. I grabbed it by the skull, and my arm immediately shifted again as I put my other fist into the demon's gut. The demon let out a scream as its blood spilled onto the floor, and I lifted it up, and slammed it skull-first into the ground. Blood sprayed from between my rope-like fingers as I proceeded to bludgeon the demon to death, for all of about five seconds before its corpse turned to shadow and absorbed itself into me. I gave a set of harsh, ragged gasps as I heard Judas speak again, "you really need to learn to control that temper of yours. Otherwise you might not get any information at all. You always kill the messenger whenever something goes wrong."

"Shut up," I drew in a breath of air, and let out a shout, "K!"

A few seconds later, what sounded like a stretch of rubber sounded as a giant, upside-down top hat appeared. It stretched upwards before a humanoid shape jumped out of it, doing a flip before landing straight up and down, the top hat shrinking in midair as it leapt into its hand. I recognize it as my right hand man and trusted friend, Wicked K, a Wicked of a more intelligent variety that seems to be exceedingly rare, as he is the only one of his kind. Like all Wickeds, his head and chest were torn open to reveal a glowing orange circle, though the one on his head was covered by his top hat, which, not including his sword-like cane and the cigarette that he always kept in his mouth, was the only part of his clothing that was not in tatters; a single thick layer of cloth adorned his shoulders, leaving the rest of his torso bare, and his pants (or, as he insists on calling them, "trousers") were torn to shreds. He wore neither socks nor shoes, and tipped his hat slightly as he spoke "I believe you summoned me, general? How could I be of assistance on this fine day?"

"Bad news, K," I stated, "Samael's been released. We believe the Horseman and an... accomplice of his to be the ones responsible."

"... I see..." he trailed off, "and how do you wish to respond?"

"First and foremost, I want you to deliver the news to the Destroyer. Make certain he knows. Secondly, I want you to find the Horseman and the one who helped him, and fight them. Kill them if you can, but if it comes to a choice of flee or die, then run. Don't kill yourself trying to win. That won't do anyone any good."

"If you insist. Where can I find these two?" the Wicked asked, obviously intrigued by his assignment.

"They look like they're making tracks for the Twilight Cathedral. If you hurry with your news to the Destroyer, you should be able to catch up to them at the Choking Grounds," I turned to Judas to see him reading out of a scroll that I assumed he snatched from the demon right before I ate it, rolling up the scroll and tucking it back under his arm.

Wicked K gave a grin, tipping his hat again, "and with that information, I take my leave. Good day to you general, Judas."

He threw his top hat and leaped again, the hat expanding to consume him as it hit the ground. As he was swallowed by the hat, the hat in turn disappeared with a resounding POP, and all was silent in the room again.

I heard the ruffling of cloth as Judas walked past me, "I must be going as well, general. I have things to look into. I hope for your sake that you know what you're doing."

I glanced at him, "what about your sake?"

He scoffed, "I couldn't care less about what happens to me now. I'm a traitor, to my own Rabbi, no less. When I am done in life, I will descend into Hell for eternity. There's no changing that."

He walked out of the room. When it finally hit me that I was alone, I slammed my fist against the wall, leaving a spiderweb of cracks in the stone as I swore beneath my breath, "damn..."

* * *

To think I wrote this in just a couple of hours... huh. And for those of you wondering, a) yes, this is the Judas Iscariot that betrayed Jesus in the Bible, b) yes, I based the general's transformation somewhat off of Prototype, and c) yes, I made Wicked K an important character and I am looking forwards to writing about him. Though it seems kind of obvious who the general is at this point... ah well. At least the main characters don't know yet. Until next time!


	8. A New Type of Wicked, and a Cursed Realm

Okay, maybe I was just being an idiot when I said that the who the general in chapter seven was should be obvious at this point. It just seems obvious to me. And BTW, the general isn't Tiamat; a) the general is male, and b) it doesn't entirely make it clear in the last chapter, but the general refused a position as the sixth member of the Chosen for unspecified reasons. Unspecified because I won't tell you. Okay, onto the story!

I do not own Darksiders. If I did, then you'd be able to find, fight, and kill the Fallen. I also do not own the revenge list of a certain shorty with a shirt that says JERK across the front.

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WAR

It didn't take long to reach the Choking Grounds. The path had been short, if somewhat difficult to traverse; lava-filled caverns are not the easiest places to negotiate passage through. Needless to say, the new ability Samael had given me, Shadowflight, was useful in making my way through. Where he couldn't cross on his own, the boy - Blake - grabbed onto my back as I glided each gap. Either way, he kept looking at the soul collector on his arm, as if contemplating exactly what prompted him to make that deal with Vulgrim.

We stepped out of the underground tunnels and into the darkness that surrounded the Choking Grounds, which was little more than a graveyard; trees twisted their way through the air from the ground in tortured, hunched forms, and graves stuck out of the ground in random places with no particular order to them, scattered like the seeds of weeds in the wind. A small river wound its way through the area before plummeting off the edge of a chasm into the darkness below, and around the shattered brick walls of the graveyard, smaller human constructs which had apparently been used as housing surrounded the area, a road winding around the perimeter of the graveyard. In the center, a small, cathedral-like building stood in the center, open on all four sides as if giving entry to all those who sought shelter. A starless night sky loomed overhead, dark grey clouds blanketing the sky above, and the only sources of light being the small fires and the light gloom that hung throughout the grounds.

"Jeez, this place is a dump," Blake muttered, "I'm guessing that the demons won the EndWar? Because if the angels won, they need to have a serious talk with their decorator."

"Neither side has won yet," I walked forwards into the darkness ahead, "but this is a clear sign that Hell has the upper hand."

"Huh. I would have thought a century's worth of conflict would have ended it," he kept pace with me, somehow managing to match my stride.

I gave a snort of annoyance, "then you are a fool. Heaven and Hell will always be in conflict. They are two sides of total opposition. They could never hope to co-exist."

"Not exactly what I meant," he stated, "I just thought someone would have won here by now."

I nodded, "both Heaven and Hell have much when it comes down to sheer military might, but it isn't that simple. You still have a lot to learn about the worlds, the Three Kingdoms especially."

"I'm a kid. What else would you expect?" his voice was one of total deadpan.

I glanced down at him, not entirely sure how to answer that question, when the sound of shifting earth combined with several high-pitched screeches grated on my ears. My gaze shot to the area before us, where two new types of monster stood before us in a horde; the first, a type of monstrous bat that had evidently been twisted by infernal magics to make it an effective soldier - a Duskwing. The second was a gaunt, almost skeletal rotting corpse in ragged, broken armour, all armed with a large, jagged scimitar that would require an average human warrior both hands to wield, all coated from head to toe in damp dirt in mud as their numbers increased, undead warriors continuing to excavate themselves from their graves.

"Here comes yet another welcome wagon," Blake stated with a sigh, drawing his knife, allowing me to finally get a good look at the design. It was vaguely shaped like a katana, long, curved, and one sided, with ancient runes of the Firstborn Language engraved on the blade. The guard was that of a fairly common symbol in Human culture, two dragons wrapping around each other before swallowing the others' tail, one angelic, the other demonic in nature. The hilt was a simple piece of metal wrapped in two types of binding, one black, the other white, before ending at a silver tip at the end that capped the top of the hilt.

Now I was certain. That was a weapon meant to kill immortal creatures, forged by the hands of something no less than a Maker of considerable skill.

I drew Chaoseater, and we stepped into a maelstrom of destruction, demons falling one after the other. I leaped, grabbed onto the skull of one of the Duskwings, and impaled it through the abdomen before throwing myself away to grab another and slam its skull into the ground. Whirling, I sent Chaoseater cleaving through several of the undead warriors, reducing them to flaming corpses with a single blow before grabbing a survivor, tossing it into the air, and bludgeoning it apart on the way down, the pieces scattering through the air as they began to burn.

I glanced at Blake who had severed the heads of several undead warriors and was working on his fifth, severing its sword arm before cutting deeply into the head, leaping away as the corpse began to burn. He ran a few steps up a tree before leaping, and landing on one of the Duskwings, manipulating it as it thrashed to get him off so that it knocked into the other bat-like demons. He quickly leaped away, and gave a smirk as the Duskwings began to fight among one another, quickly turning from a simple quarrel to a bloody vendetta, ending with them all either dead or exhausted on the ground. Blake gave me a smug look, not even noticing the souls flowing into his gauntlet as he walked up and finished off each one before speaking again "why waste your energy fighting when you can just make them fight each other?"

I nodded slowly, then stiffened at the sound of long slow claps accompanied by a chilling laughter, "bravo! Bravo! That was a splendid battle!"

I turned, and a Wicked leaned with one elbow on a cane, a lit cigarette in his mouth and a ragged top hat on his head clapping as he continued to laugh, a strong British accent making itself prominent in his voice, "absolutely spectacular! Though I shouldn't expect anything less from one of the Horsemen. That would be an insult to your station."

"Who the hell are you?" Blake shouted, grabbing the Wicked's attention.

"Tsk, tsk," the Wicked wagged his finger slightly, "foul language like that is _not_ very gentlemanly. Not at all. Didn't your parents ever teach you any manners?"

"You learn that manners are relatively pointless when you live on the street for seven years of your life," Blake shot back, and the Wicked let out another set of his chilling laughter.

"I suppose that would be true. But I am getting ahead of myself. Never good of a gentleman to do that," he gave a grin, "allow me to introduce myself. While I lost my name as a human long ago, I am known in the Destroyer's ranks as... Wicked K," he gave a slight bow, picking up his cane and taking off his hat, revealing the glowing orange core through the hole in his head, "I am enchanted to make your acquaintance, War. Just as much as I was to have fought your brother, Death. I assume the boy is your apprentice? You should really teach him to act more like a gentleman."

Blake's eye twitched slightly as I spoke "just get to the point. I don't like people who waste my time for no reason. Why are you here?"

"Ah, now that is the part that I most regret to inform you of," Wicked K's smile faltered as he placed his head back on his head, "you see, my general does not like the fact that you released Samael, or the fact that you seem to be headed towards the Twilight Cathedral to take the heart of Tiamat. What you are doing is putting his own plans in jeopardy, so he sent me here to deal with you," he removed his hat again for an instant, "so sorry, but I'll have to kill you now."

With that, he rushed at me, floating in midair as he brought his cane up like a sword. I leaped backwards as a blade of blood red energy extended from the cane, slicing the ground where I was cleanly apart. The Wicked spoke "alright. This shall be gentleman's rules, no low shots or foul language."

"Screw you!" Blake shouted, rushing at Wicked K, his knife flashing - only to be stuck to a wall, red bindings of energy keeping him in place.

The Wicked grinned, "gentlemen only fight one on one. Bringing in friends isn't fair at all. I'll deal with you after I've finished my business with the Horseman."

I brought my sword down on top of him on the last word, only to have my attack blocked by his cane. The Wicked gave a grunt of exertion, and parried my strike, sliding my blade off his cane so it struck the ground. In response, I tightened my grip on Chaoseater, and a geyser of blades erupted around me, several impaling the Wicked through his chest and limbs and launching him backwards into the river. He stood unsteadily, took his cane, and extended the crimson blade from it once more, "take this, you ruffian!" he shouted, no longer floating but running along the ground as he brought his sword across from the side, an attempt to cut me in half. I blocked the attack with my gauntlet, and lashed out with Chaoseater again, driving the Wicked back several feet as he tried to evade being cut to shreds by my sudden attack as it turned into an onslaught of slashes, continuing to force him back until he shouted again, "oh, for the love of...!"

He leaped over top of me, removed his hat, and threw it at me, a red blade of energy surrounding the rim as it flew through the air. I dodged past it, and raised Chaoseater to strike again - as the makeshift weapon circled back and struck, cutting deep into my side as it flew back into Wicked K's grip. His crimson blade extended from his cane once more as we rushed at each other, and I thrust my sword forwards - impaling the Wicked like a fish on a harpoon before he even had a chance to reach me. What was left of the corpse's blood spilled out onto the ground as he gave a choke, and I yanked my blade out of his chest, making him stumble backwards. He spoke as I began my approach to finish him, "how unfortunate... I failed in the execution of my target," he muttered, somehow without any sign of pain in his voice, "this won't do... this won't do at all... I'll have to report this to the general... I'll need one of my seals broken in order to kill you... though I must admit, that was well done, Horseman... well done indeed," he tipped his hat, a smirk on his face in his salute.

I snorted as I hefted Chaoseater for the final blow, "flattery won't help you, Wicked. You challenged me, you failed to kill me, and you mocked my brother in saying that you had fought him. If you had fought Death the way you are now, you wouldn't be standing here. The only reason you are still alive is because I have been stripped of most of my power. Now you pay the price for your mockery with your life."

The Wicked grinned, and tossed his hat to the ground, where it expanded with the sound of stretching rubber to the point where it could encompass a person should they enter it. He spoke again "we will meet again... and when we do, I won't lose."

Realizing his intentions, I lashed out at the hat, but far too late - the Wicked jumped, and landed in the confines of his hat, where it disappeared with an echoing POP.

"Well... that was... odd, to say the least," the Watcher manifested floating in midair as he surveyed the damage the Wicked had caused with interest, "I guess it isn't good to make assumptions about things like Wickeds. The way he acted, he was like no Wicked I've ever seen. It just goes to show what the Destroyer has under his command. We have to get moving before he sends something even stronger to kill you!"

I stood there, my eyes narrowed as I stared at the spot where the Wicked once stood, internally swearing to myself that the Wicked would die for his mockery one day, the Watcher disappeared and Blake's voice echoed in my ears again.

"I... wha... but... huh?"

I turned to see Blake, who'd been freed of his restraints, pointing frantically at the spot where the Wicked had disappeared. While it seemed that he couldn't properly articulate words, the look on his face told me what he was thinking: _please tell me you have some idea of what in hell that just was._

I shook my head, "an assassin. An odd assassin, but a powerful one all the same. And something tells me this won't be the last time we'll be seeing him."

A few quarrels with some demons later, we were walking through one of the streets when something caught Blake's attention. The boy glanced at his gauntlet, shrugged, and drove it through one of the windows of one of the many rusting constructs that sat in the street, yanking what looked like a stack of paper out before glancing up at me. He shrugged, "I just got pinned to a wall by a British idiot who insulted me multiple times. Not in a good mood. Need to vent."

"It is never good to allow your opponent to dig into your skin like that, boy," I stated, "never allow your opponent's insults to get to you. Think of a battle of words as psyche-out warfare. If you lose that, you may wind up dead as a result."

He nodded, "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for the advice," he blinked as he looked over the paper in his hands, "what the... this..."

"What is it?"

"This... it looks like some kind of revenge list," he turned a page, "whoever wrote this needs to go back to grade school and learn to write. They can't spell for crap, and they have the writing ability of a two year old. Let's see... New Mexico... traffic... ninjas... the wolf man... Jeez, there's some ridiculous stuff in here," he blinked, then continued down the list, "dinosaur... Canada? Okay, that's just racist... Elise's parents... horror movies... anime... ye olde Shakespearean dinner theater... oh, looks like you're in here, War..." he smirked, "'drunken red swordsman who wrecked my car.'"

I felt my eye twitch slightly as he went back to reading, "heh. Who else is in here? Salvation armed forces... meteors... demon bandits... undead crows... wait... angel pirates? What the heck?" he shook his head, then sighed, "oh well... crazy angel pirate captain... three street brats who stole my milk and cookies. Is he talking about what I did with Leon and Cross?" he blinked, "if he is, then this is that little shorty with the word jerk across his shirt. Huh. Okay... crazy pale scythe murderer with hockey mask... I'm guessing that's Death?"

I scratched my chin slightly, smirking at the absurd prospect of someone trying to get revenge on my brother. Whoever made this list must have had some dangerous enemies, "possibly."

Blake nodded, then went back to the list as we walked, "red-headed warrior lady with giant axe... black-haired kid with sword and hyper disposition... Scottish giant with hammer... cheapskate demon merchant. Oh, gee, I wonder who that could be?" sarcasm tinged his voice, "cheapskate old lady merchant... stupid lying jerkface who walked on water in the stupid lying book the stupid lying church keeps...* oh, listen to this one: stupid jerkface demon with upside down wings who blew up my apartment."

I let out a series of chuckles at the idea of someone trying to take vengeance upon Samael, Blake's hysterical laughter echoing through the Choking Grounds as he spoke "I'm definitely keeping this for later. It's so funny, and I'm not even done the first page!"

I smirked, "so, how does it feel to have collected your first souls?"

He blinked, clearly taken aback by my sudden question before staring at his gauntlet again, "I'm not sure, honestly," he admitted, "I'm glad I'm on my way to getting this over with, but... I can't get rid of this nagging feeling that it was a bad move. Like I'm being an arrogant jerk and a hypocrite at the same time."

I nodded, and he tapped the gauntlet, "it feels weird... knowing that there's people's souls in this thing. It's even weirder that I can tell exactly how many I have. I've already got almost twenty."

I turned my attention back to what lay ahead as I found that the road ahead had been blocked, a Guardian blocking the way ahead. I sighed, and Blake glanced up at me, "you have to use that demon horn now, right?"

I took the Earthcaller out and raised it to my mouth, letting out a blast of sound as the boy clamped his hands over his ears. The Gate immediately revealed itself, held back only by the chains that kept it in place, though these had not been rusted; the iron that made them up was well maintained and clearly strong as ever.

"I have come for the Destroyer," I felt my teeth grate against one another as the name passed through my lips.

The Gate's rumbling voice seemed to echo endlessly as it spoke, "my brothers spoke of your coming. But," it gestured to the chains, many small ones branching off the four particularly thick ones that kept it in place, "a powerful curse holds me now. I cannot help you."

"Any curse can be broken," I felt my eyes narrow as I stared up at the Guardian, who gave a nod.

"Yes... perhaps... the servants of the Destroyer walk unseen within the Realm of Shadow. By their blood we are bound. By their blood shall we be free."

"Shadow Realm? Great," Blake kicked at a rock, "another one of these fancy reflection worlds?"

"More or less. It is a realm that is both a form of reality, and a form of falsehood. It is both real and false at the same time, directly affecting the world whilst not being affected in turn. However, I can no longer move within the Shadow Realm," I clenched my gauntlet into a fist, "much of my power has left me."

"Well that sucks. How are we going to get past?" Blake threw his arms up in the air, "it's like life hates our guts!"

"You need not enter it!" the Gate spoke out again, "I will grant you the power to see into the accursed realm, for a time. But to what end? What hope have we now against the Destroyer's foul sorcery?"

I drew Chaoseater, and pointed the blade towards the Guardian, "hope will not bring you freedom."

The Guardian nodded, "yes..."

It then opened its stone jaws, and unleashed a massive roar, tendrils of crimson energy streaming from its mouth swirling around us. My sight darkened slightly, everything tinged with shadowy red as my eyes adjusted to the Shadow Realm.

"Agh! My eyes!"

I turned to Blake, to see the boy thrashing and stumbling about like a drunk, grabbing at his face as if someone had poured acid on it. He gave a severe curse, "it feels like someone took a branding iron to them!"

I grabbed onto him and yanked his hands away from his eyes, which had screwed themselves shut. I let out a slight snarl, "calm down, boy. Your eyes are adjusting to the Shadow Realm. Most humans don't have to see into the accursed realm, but for the ones that do, the pain is excruciating. It will stop in a moment, but until then, keep your head."

After about a minute, his eyes slowly opened, tinged with a reddish-orange tinge similar to that of flame - a clear sign he could see into the Shadow Realm.

"How do your eyes feel now?" I released him, and he glanced about, taking in his surroundings.

"Better. They still sting, but the pain is gone for the most part," he returned his gaze to me, "I don't know about you, but I don't like this. I want to get this over with as soon as possible so I can stop seeing this. It doesn't feel right."

I turned back to the path that led back into the Choking Grounds, "it feels 'right' for very few who gain the ability to look into the Shadow Realm."

As I started back towards the graveyard, the Watcher manifested again, "find where these 'Shadow Lurkers' hide, and KILL THEM ALL!" he glanced about hungrily, "they can't be that hard to find."

"Shut it, Watchy," Blake spat at the Darkling, and I sighed as they began to argue again. Something told me this was going to take a while.

* * *

* I am so sorry to anyone I offended with this comment, but I just couldn't resist. It was just _way_ too funny for me to pass up.


	9. A Realm of Shadow, and a Short Argument

I do not own Darksiders, yada yada yada, I am getting tired of writing this disclaimer stuff for everything, I am going to kill the lawyers that survived the EndWar now, read this whilst you're waiting for me to come back, bye.

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WAR

I started towards the closest of the four pillars of blazing red that shone on the horizon as Blake's voice rang in my ears again, "so all we have to do is find whatever these things are, and after we kill them, Blockhead over there gets out of the way?"

I merely nodded, and the tone of Blake's voice changed slightly, "you want to split up? We might be able to cover twice as much ground, find the things faster-"

"No," I cut him off, "the creatures in the Destroyer's service within this realm and the Shadow Realm are drastically different in terms of cunning. There is no doubt in my mind that there will be some form of ambush. Do not go off on your own if you wish to stay alive in the Shadow. Understand?"

"Sir, yes sir," he grumbled, and I pressed on, the source of the first pillar quickly coming into view. At its base on the ground was a six sided demonic structure that was supposedly the home for the first servant of shadow, clawlike spikes jutting out of each point and a pattern similar to that of an eye on the top. It wasn't that high, two feet perhaps, and glowed like the embers of a dying fire, though the pillar that shot from its center suggested otherwise.

"So, this is one of Watchy's and Blockhead's 'Shadow Lurkers,' huh?" Blake kneeled down, running his hand along one of the sides, his eyes in a perpetual squint, "so, what? You just smash it open and it bleeds to death?"

"It could never be that easy, no matter how much some would wish it," I drew Chaoseater, stepping forwards onto the demonic platform.

"It never is," he sighed, stepping up beside me and staring up at the sky, "one could always hope, though."

I plunged Chaoseater into the center of the platform, and the demonic orange glow took us both before we found ourselves in a completely new area from the gloom of the graveyard we had been standing in. Expertly carved black stone made up the walls, floor and ceiling, arching up in the center of the room into pure darkness above. The only sources of light came from the bright blue slits in the four pillars that had been built into the walls, and four circular carvings on each of the four walls bore complicated patterns, but seemingly served no purpose. On the far side of the room, where we currently were, a separate section stuck out like a bulge from the rest of the chamber, seeming to serve no purpose other than as an entry way.

"At least my eyesight's back to normal," Blake muttered as I yanked Chaoseater from the floor, and we stepped forwards into the chamber, each step echoing off the walls and seeming to go for miles upwards into the dark. As soon as we reached the center of the room, there was a flash of demonic light from behind us, and the squeal of metal grinding against metal shrieked through the air. I whirled about to stare into the ethereal eye of what I guessed to be a Shadow Lurker, nothing more than a glowing, fleshy mass suspended by magic, with an eye glaring out at us in the center. A gate was rising before it from the floor, made up of a single line of serrated blades that rose in an irregular, jagged fashion, until each had risen at least twice as tall as I was to begin with. Demonic laughter echoed throughout the room as the first denizens of the Black Depths pulled themselves from the flaming circles that appeared all around us, and I cursed lightly under my breath as I once again drew my sword.

This could take a while.

"So what, we kill enough of these idiots, we rip apart that eye, we get the hell out of here?" Blake asked.

"That about sums it up," the Watcher appeared again as it glanced about at the surrounding Phantoms. Then a cruel smugness crept into its voice as its eyes narrowed, "surely this should be no challenge for the likes of you?"

"Who? Me or War? I don't think War's going to have much of a problem," there was the sound of a blade cleaving through flesh, and I glanced back to see a Phantom let out a howl as it fell to the ground, its Achilles tendon severed before Blake leaped onto it like some kind of animal, digging the knife in his grip into the Phantom's throat before leaping away from the corpse as he finished, "but I think this might take me a while."

The Watcher merely laughed as it turned back into shadow, returning to my arm as I grated my teeth, driving my sword forwards through a Phantom with so much force that it was cleaved in two, its legs separating from its body as it gave a brutal shriek of pain, already beginning to burn before it even hit the ground.

The next few minutes were simple chaos, the blood and bodies of demons littering the ground like a burning, uneven, grotesque carpet of blood and corpses. The blood had ignited, setting fire to the demons that ran over their fallen comrades, and nearly setting fire to me and the boy, who was gripping st his right shoulder, wincing slightly, as though in pain. Still the storm of blades, blood and fire raged round us as we fought on, until finally the room was clear, the last corpses and pools of blood burning themselves out.

As the last sparks died, a dull roar sounded as a maelstrom of blue fire swirled in the center of the chamber, rising higher and higher into the air before plunging towards us, about half slamming into my gauntlet, the other into the boy's for a long ten seconds before disappearing in a final shock wave. I turned on my heel, and strode towards the wall of blades as it slowly lowered, the shriek of the grate grinding on my ears, but holding a note of victory as I approached, the eye that had been protected by the blades widening with fear, darting about as though searching for a way out, but to no avail. Dark whispers echoed in my ears in a constant plea for mercy, but I merely gave a cold smirk, my grip on Chaoseater tightening as I hefted it, and drove it into the center of the eye. There was a roar of pain as blood the colour of magma poured from the wound like wine from a broken skin, and I ripped my sword from the flesh, only to bring it across in a series of slashes that left the wounds in the shape of a bloody cross. There was one final shriek of agony before it fell silent, disintegrating to clear the way to the circle-like portal that led back to the Choking Grounds.

"Now _that _was _entertaining! _Can we do it again?" the Watcher asked, eagerness making itself a prominent tone in his voice.

"Sure. In the next one, why don't _you _do all the fighting while me and War kick back and watch?" the boy snarled, the Watcher shooting a warning glare at him before dissipating again. I merely shook my head slightly, then stepped forwards into the portal. For an instant, everything went white, then I found myself back on the demonic platform, Blake appearing next to me within the next instant. Stepping off, the platform began to rot, turning into dust and scattering in the wind.

Only three more to go.

"Damn..." the boy beside me swore as he gripped at his shoulder, which I finally noticed was bleeding profusely, staining the entire back of his shirt with a dark red hue.

I grabbed him by the arm and shoulder, yanking him into a position where I could get a better look at the wound and yanking off his shirt. While it wasn't that deep, it had definitely gone into the bone - a Phantom's war pick, in all likelihood.

I glanced about for an instant before dragging the struggling boy to the river, tossing him to the ground on his front while I gathered what I needed to properly clean the wound. He gave an angry shout as I worked "what the hell was that for?!"

"Your wound is nothing serious. But it needs to be cleaned properly. Infection," I paused, making sure the word sank into him, "can kill just as easily as a sword."

He said nothing for a long time, then finally stated "never took you for someone who would work in medicine. I mean, really, who can see a Horseman of the Apocalypse working as a medic?"

"Not normally, no," I ground the herbs I gathered into powder before pouring them into the water I'd collected, "but a warrior must know how to deal with the wounds they sustain. They cannot depend on someone else to help them."

"And yet here you are, helping me out with mine," Blake's voice held a note of pained smugness. I gave him a glare as he smirked, then went back to work. There was another short silence before he asked "so what are your partners like? You know, the other four Horsemen? Death, Pestilence and Famine?"

I paused, turning my gaze to him again, "Pestilence and Famine?"

"That's what most of us call them. The only one of you that's actually named in the bible is Death. Besides that, we just assumed what your names were."

I nodded, then smirked as memories of myself, my brothers, my sister, and some very old friends came to mind, "my brother and sister are not Pestilence and Famine. My brother is Strife, and my sister is Fury," I paused, recalling each one of my siblings with a fondness I rarely felt, "Strife is by far the least likeable of us, the most easily irritated as well. He's surly by nature, but that's just him," I gave the mixture a quick swirl before approaching Blake, sitting down beside him, ripping off a piece of his shirt and dipping it into the mixture, "Fury is by far the most likeable, the easiest for most others to relate to. That may be simply because she's friendly by nature, or just because she is a woman."

As I lowered the strip of cloth onto his wound, he gave a hiss, "God damn it, that burns!" he writhed, gripping at his shoulder, "you said you were going to disinfect it, not light it on God damn fire!"

I ignored his outburst, pinning him down and continuing as he settled down, "Death... he is possibly the most complicated of us. He appears cold and morbid on the outside, has a dark sense of humor to boot. But no matter how much he tries to hide it, he has a warmer side to him. But that doesn't mean he won't make an example of others to make sure his authority isn't challenged."

"And that leaves you, the silent, honor bound stoical jackass," Blake managed through his clenched teeth.

I felt my eye give a slight twitch as I removed the cloth, and poured the rest of the vial onto his wound, the liquid giving a light hiss as the boy let out another shout of pain, writhing about, his limbs like angered snakes as they thrashed about. Releasing him, I gave a slight smirk, "perhaps that will teach you to respect your elders."

"Shut up," he muttered, his wound still bubbling with the liquid, the mixture hardening over as a sort of scab-like bandage. A few minutes later, we were heading towards the next Shadow Lurker, the boy muttering under his breath about his ruined shirt.

* * *

AN: *author emerges from the shadows, covered head to toe in blood, a nodachi of dragon bone slung over his shoulder and holding onto a half-dead guy in a fancy suit, obviously a lawyer* I don't want to write the other Shadow Lurker things; the Shadow Realm is just way too repetitive, and as such shall be timeskipped. So then... activate Chronosphere... TIMESKIP!

* * *

Once again, we stood before the Guardian, the chains that bound it rusted beyond all recognition as it once again unfolded its arms, "well done, friend," it began straining against its bonds, each chain twisting and grating against one another before they buckled, snapping off at the weakest link as it began to stride forwards into the mist, where it was soon lost to our sight.

"I'm so damn happy to have my vision back to normal," Blake rubbed at his eyes, as though they were still sore, "so what do you think we're up against ahead?"

"I have no idea," I started forwards, "all I know is that whatever is ahead will be more dangerous than what we've faced so far... keep up, and don't do anything stupid.

With that small exchange, we strode forth into the darkness of the tunnels ahead,


	10. The Hellguard

I do not own Darksiders. I'm sorry this took so long. As compensation, this chapter is **_VERY F*CKING LONG._**

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BLAKE

My breath steamed in the seemingly frozen air as we stepped out of the tunnel. Out from under the tons of concrete we stepped, the ground glistening slightly with ice as I hopped from foot to foot, cursing myself for tossing away my shoes. Why did I feel the need to toss them away?

I glanced about as we pressed forwards, taking in as much of our surroundings as I could. More ruined city spread itself as far as the eye could see, with a gigantic overpass stretching over us beyond the edge of the road that dropped into a chasm. I whistled, "that is a long way down," I felt my gaze wander about the buildings before kicking an approaching Wicked off the edge, where it promptly fell out of sight, "how much farther to the Cathedral?"

War licked at his lips slightly, his eyes tracing the horizon. Finally, he stated, "about another week on foot."

I nodded, both annoyed and grateful for the amount of time that I had on my hands as I glanced at my gauntlet, the measly two hundred and three souls I had collected glowing with a slight blue glow as I focused. If I didn't hurry things up with the collection, I was screwed.

As we started towards one of the buildings to get to higher ground, I asked "War, you wouldn't have any tips concerning soul-collecting, would you?"

He remained silent, though the quiet was that of thought rather than that of ignorance. Finally, he spoke again as we reached the door, "if there are demons you know you can kill easily, then bring down as many of them as possible. Other than that, I can only say that generally, the stronger a demon is, the more souls it has devoured, and the more that its own soul is worth."

I nodded as he kicked the door in, splinters of glass and wood shooting across the room within, "stronger demons have more souls. Got it," I huffed, walking past him into the relative warmth of the building. The familiar sound of metal sliding from a sheath filled the air as I once again drew my knife, and kicked a Wicked to the ground, promptly ending its life with a downwards stroke without a second thought. I shuddered slightly as the soul was trapped by my gauntlet, "damn... we've been attacked by Wickeds so many times now that I don't even feel anything when I see one. I just don't. I've gotten used to them. And I'm not sure if that's a good thing..."

More silence as we ascended the steps, the knife and sword sliding back into their respective places. I gripped onto my arms, internally cursing War for ripping apart my shirt as we reached the top, a gaping hole in the wall letting the wind freeze the building from the inside out. Upon seeing the broken bridge that stood across the frozen concrete, I felt my gaze go back to War, "at least I have some warning this time."

Without a word, he grabbed onto me, once again hefting me onto his back before leaping out into the free air, the wings of shadow extending from his back again, silently gliding across the gap before once again disappearing in a flash of aquamarine light. The wind rippled as the process was repeated several times across gaps in the bridge, until we came to the final section of bridge before the concrete simply fell of into oblivion, another gap between us and a building that might lead to higher ground.

That was when life decided once again to rip us a new one.

The instant the roar sounded, War immediately did a one eighty, staring at the cloud of dust that had appeared on the edge of the bridge from where we came. I glanced up at him as I drew my knife, "please tell me that thing is smaller than it sounds."

He merely drew his sword, his eyes scanning the area, "we don't have the luxury of assuming otherwise. I know that roar. It is a sound that heralds the arrival of one specific species of demon."

"And that is?" I shifted my weight, then nearly leaped out of my skin as the creature leaped forth from the cloud of dust. It was nearly identical to the one that had attacked me, Leon and Cross in the EndWar, the one that War had killed, its orange scales a dull inferno in the mist, the black blades that extended from its wrists and the chains that clanked across its body glinting, the tusks that jutted out from either side of its maw dripping with spittle. A series of black tusk-like spires grew from its back and shoulders, bits of debris tumbling from its body as the beast shook itself. Its beady orange eyes scoured the bridge until it caught sight of us, and with another roar, it began its approach towards us, the concrete beneath it cracking with each thundering footstep, so loud I thought that the bridge beneath it would crack open and send the creature tumbling to the earth below.

No such luck.

"That," War stated, "is one of the most powerful species of demon that Hell has at its disposal - a Trauma."

"So what do we do about it?" I questioned, backing up a few steps as the creature leaped across the first gap, "run?"

"No," the Horseman gave a slight snort at the idea, his gaze never breaking from the approaching monstrosity, "running is pointless. Traumas are fast enough to keep pace with most creatures on foot. However... we do have an advantage over it."

Another roar drew my attention back to the demon, and I let out a shout, hitting the dirt as fast as I could whilst the smashed up vehicle soared through the air towards us. War didn't even flinch, merely bringing his blade up in an arc and cleaving the chunk of rusting metal cleanly in two, the pieces sailing down into the misty abyss below.

_What kind of advantage could we possibly have against _that_ thing!? _I wondered, looking back up at War as I got hurriedly to my feet.

He spoke again, as though to answer my question, "Traumas are powerful, but for all they have in physical strength and blood-lust, they lack concerning intelligence of any sort. They are little more than beasts - living engines of destruction, unable to even tell allies from foes. That's why Hell wraps them in chains - to keep them on their leashes until the time has come to let them loose to rampage among their enemies."

I flinched slightly when my gaze went back to the hellish abomination, "so in other words, they're your typical brutish meat shield? Big, burly and really, really stupid?"

He scratched slightly at his chin before cutting apart yet another of the Trauma's projectiles, his face its usual stone mask as the demon continued its approach across the gaps, only one left to go, "I suppose that would sum it up well enough."

I only managed a slight smile before one final smash heralded the Trauma's arrival. It stood before us, easily three times War's height, and heavier than any of humanity's tanks from before my "kingdom" had fallen. Pure hatred - no, not hatred. Hatred was something that could in no way be pure. It always came with other emotions - fear, pain, rage. What burned in its eyes was merely anger, animalistic, unreasoning, unrelenting anger.

While it was only a grand total of two seconds, the silence seemed to last an agonizing eternity before the Trauma let out another roar, raising one clawed fist and bringing it down into the concrete mere inches from where War now stood, the Horseman never wasting a second before bringing the blade down on the demon's wrist. Blood spurted from the wound, and the demon merely let out another roar, throwing War to the side before moving to strike again. The harbinger of the apocalypse merely dodged away, the Trauma striking too deep, its claw stuck in the concrete. As the monster struggled to pull itself free, I found myself at War's side.

"How much of your power did you lose?!" I shouted, "the last time you fought one of these things you had no issue at all! You butchered it like it was already dead!"

He said nothing, merely grabbing me and pulling me aside as the Trauma finally yanked its claw from the cold stone, its serrated blades missing War by mere centimeters as he nimbly shot out of range. He grated his teeth as he tossed me away, and then he and the Trauma began circling each other, squaring off in a standoff that was all but silent, the only sounds being the clanks of War's armour and the cracking of the concrete beneath the Trauma's feet. I felt myself begin to tremble as the tension built with the blood-lust, the feeling in the air seeming to claw at the inside of my lungs, like razors in my chest cutting away at my organs. Still, I stayed standing, watching, waiting, the instincts I had relied on for so long keeping me focused.

It was within their next exchange that I saw my chance.

When the Trauma charged forwards, bringing its claws down atop of War's Chaoseater. Sparks flew through the air as War parried, driving his sword up into the bones of the demon's wrist, through the scales, metal and bone that stood in the blade's path. As soon as the blood began to flow, as soon as the Trauma let out another roar of pain, I bolted, rushing past the Horseman and sliding between the demon's legs. Getting back on my feet, I jumped up onto its back, using the knot-like growths in its bone-like spikes to climb up its back. Oddly, though, the Trauma didn't seem to notice; either it was too enraged with War to even feel me on its back, didn't see me as much of a threat, or the massive, spiked growths on its back were like hair or nails, devoid of a nervous system. Either way, it kept launching itself at War again and again like an enraged bull, swinging its massive arms at the Horseman to between little and no avail. It took all of my strength and concentration to keep from being thrown from the demon's back, but eventually, I made it to its massive shoulders, right above its hideous head.

I drew my knife, and put the blade in between my teeth as their next exchange shook the beast I had climbed upon from head to toe. As War leaped away again, the Trauma began to turn again, its head whipping wildly about as it struggled to get him back in its sights. All the while, I slid down atop its neck, straddling it like a horse's saddle before removing my knife from between my teeth. Right as the Trauma finally took notice of my position, I raised the blade, and drove it into the creature's eye, thick, crimson liquid spilling out of the cavity like a fountain from where the knife lay buried in the socket where its organ once lay.

The Trauma let out an unholy shriek as I withdrew the blade from its head, swinging at me, its clawed fists more often than not too close for comfort as it thrashed about. I gripped onto the chains around its neck with such power that I could have sworn my hands began to bleed, my teeth grit against each other so hard I thought they would break as I shifted from side to side, each time just barely keeping myself out of the Trauma's grip. Finally, I managed to get a better grip on its head, and impaled its other eye with a shout, the blood tinging the air with a powerful metallic stench. The Trauma howled, and War came back into view, the Chaoseater glinting as he brought it down on the Trauma's hand, cleaving it clean from its body with a single blow, not sparing an instant before sending its other claw to a similar fate, severed from its host with a single downwards slash.

Not wasting any more time than what he needed, the Horseman rushed up the Trauma's bleeding stump of an arm, reaching me within seconds. Lifting me out of the way and onto his back with ease, the Red Rider grunted as he gripped the chains on either side of the screaming demon's neck, and twisted its head around in one single, violent movement, the resulting snap that echoed through the air seeming to bring an all encompassing silence of sheer disbelief.

A long few seconds passed before the demon began to topple forwards, and War nimbly jumped away without a word, a resounding boom echoing in my ears as the demon hit the concrete, its massive head resting on its chin before the ever familiar orange flame began to eat away at the corpse, a multitude of blue flames erupting from the body and forcing themselves into our gauntlets.

I stared at my gauntlet, blinking at the sheer amount of souls that had been absorbed by that single demon.

Before I even knew what was happening, War had set me back on the ground, his eyes narrowed with intrigue. I put my arms behind my head, sighing with annoyance,"yeah, yeah, I get it. I'm an idiot who takes stupid risks for no good reason. I-"

He raised his hand, cutting me off. He stayed silent for a few seconds, as though making sure I was listening before finally speaking, "on the contrary, boy. I'm actually somewhat impressed. There are not many who are brave enough to interfere in a battle between a Trauma and one of the Horsemen."

I blinked, surprised by his words. He then took a look at Chaoseater, "however, keep this in mind," he gave his sword another swing, the blood splattering across the ground from the blade before slinging it back across his back, "though the risk you took did indeed yield results, it was also an... uncalculated risk that may have gotten you killed. The first thing you need to evaluate is whether the risks of your next steps are worth the desired result. The other," he tapped the side of his head, "is that there is a fine line between courage and stupidity. You need to find that line and be able to define bravery from idiocy on your own. Am I understood?"

I thought about what he said, taking into account what would have happened if I had made one wrong move with that Trauma. Then I nodded, "crystal clear."

He nodded, a small smirk pulling at the edges of his mouth, then grabbed onto me again before leaping over the next gap. Then one more, to a crumbling building, larger in stature compared to the others. Climbing the steps, I glanced out of one of the windows, a flash of gold catching my eye before disappearing. I froze, transfixed before walking back to the window, sticking my head out and searching.

Nothing.

"Boy," War stated, catching my attention. I turned back to him, and his eyes narrowed, "what is it?"

"I..." I looked back out the window. Reluctantly, I turned back to War, "it's nothing."

As though suspicious, War approached the window himself, taking a long good look to the outside before finally grunting, "you should trust your instincts more, boy. There's something out there, and we both know it," he turned on his heel back towards the staircase that led upwards through the building, "I just don't know why I didn't notice until now. Follow me, and don't let your guard down for an instant. If they are out there, we cannot make any mistakes."

"If who are out there?" I followed close behind him, my gaze fixed on the back of his hood as we came to the final staircase, open air above us.

He didn't answer. Instead, he hesitantly approached the top of the stairs, and another flash of gold arced across the sky. Immediately, he was against the wall, his massive gauntlet pressing me against the cold stone as he looked out towards the sky from the opening. A voice echoed from somewhere above, "This way!"

Another soon after it, this one slightly harsh, as though scolding the first one, "it's nothing. Some demon trick."

The first voice argued back, almost desperate, "I know what I saw."

War gave a slight curse under his breath, and before I could ask him what was wrong, a third voice echoed down, this one feminine, but commanding and powerful, confident in its abilities "he's right."

I finally managed to get a glimpse past War, and found my breath taken away by the sight. A winged woman descended from the skies, her body clad in gold, silver and dark blue armour, her tanned skin like chocolate in the dim light of the clouded sky. Her golden wings were easily seventeen feet across, the tops coated in armour, and her white hair flowed freely from the top of her head to her shoulders. A pale white rune was etched into her forehead like a tattoo, and her eyes blazed a bright gold like the setting sun. One of the voices from before took an apologetic, almost reverent tone, "Uriel."

At the name, memories blazed through me, and I grated my teeth as I remembered who she was. She was there, in the EndWar. She left me, Leon and Cross for dead in favor of vengeance.

Without so much as a glance behind us, War grabbed onto me, and we both slowly retreated back down into the building, the angel continuing her speech, "it's there... beneath the stench of this place. You can sense it. Ancient."

I shuddered, instinctively drawing the conclusion that she was talking about War. Then I saw something; a creature coated in angelic armour, massive, with the body of a lion, and the head, talons and wings of an eagle, an angel upon its back. I glanced up at War, and he nodded, flinging me up onto his back once again as he began to run through the building, leaping over whatever he could not simply trample beneath his armoured boots in his run towards the window as the griffin-like creature flew past. All the while, I could still hear Uriel's chilling voice sending thrills of something horribly close to fear down my spine, "from neither the White City, nor the Black Depths. Something lost between."

I felt War leap, smashing down atop of an angel, ripping the glaive from his hands before leaping across onto the griffin, knocking the angel from his mount and into the mists below. It took him a moment, but he got the creature under control, and dove towards the foggy depths below, even as I held onto the back of his cloak in a death grip. Finally, he pulled up, bringing us back up to level and letting me sit back down into the saddle further down its back, fastening myself in place as best I could, my heart racing with exhilaration and fear. Either way, I was pretty damn sure War just ruined roller coasters for me. For life.

"So much for keeping a low profile!" I shouted, glancing up as the angels finally got a bead on us, and dove in a swarm, Uriel letting out a shout.

"Hellguard, TO ARMS!"

I grated my teeth, "you'd think these jerks would be on our side, seeing as we're trying to kill demons."

War said nothing, merely tightening his grip on the reigns and on the angelic weapon in his hand, firing at every angel that got in our way, every shot putting another of the winged soldier out of the sky, dead, or wounded and about to be dead when they finally hit the ground, souls just flying by the tens into War's arm. But for every one War shot down, another two took their place - it seemed like there was no end to these guys.

I just held on as tightly as I could, my hands on the saddle in a death grip as the chase through the city continued, every once in a while receiving a heart attack when an attack from one of the angels got too close for comfort. Finally, things seemed to relax slightly as we entered a cavern, angels still coming but no longer able to swarm us like before.

"You think you could let me borrow some of those?" I joked, gesturing to his gauntlet, but he paid no attention, instead frying an angel with a single blast as it rounded the corner.

Soon, we exited the cavern, free air once again blasting me in the face, but oddly enough, no angels came out to attack us. Feeling an eerie chill shoot through my body, I glanced about, my eyes widening as I looked up, and another angel sped down towards us, silent as he dove, much smaller than the others, his armour sleeker and his body leaner than the ones before, like he had been bred for speed. He raised his glaive, ready to plunge it downwards, and I glanced at War.

The Horseman hadn't noticed. Or, more accurately, was too preoccupied with a new force of angels that blasted out from the buildings, a single hellstorm of armour and feathers that were ready to tear the Horseman apart.

Cursing, I unstrapped myself from the saddle, and stood unsteadily, drawing my knife. I waited for the one to get close, then leaped, catching him by surprise and crashing into him, my knife going through his armour and into his shoulder. War glanced back, his eyes widening as we both began to fall, me over top of the angel as we engaged in a midair melee, my knife hacking through his armour as he struggled to get me off. Again and again, the blade flashed white and crimson as it bit into his arms and shoulders, and I felt blood trickle from my mouth as he lashed out, catching me in the jaw more than once. Finally, my grip slipped slightly, and he kicked me, my grip on him disappearing for an instant as he began to fly up.

Fear shot through me as I grabbed his foot, and stabbed him in the leg, shouting as I climbed back up his body, "no you don't!" I removed my knife from his body again, our descent slowed only by the beats of his wings as he struggled to stay aloft, and finally, with an upwards slash, I knocked his helmet from his head.

What I saw beneath the helmet made me utterly freeze. Bleach blond hair flowed from his head, catching what little light it could with a flash. His eyes were a bright, leaf green, filled with rage, which was quickly overtaken by shock as they met my own blue ones as we stared each other in the face, taking in each others' features.

I couldn't believe it.

This couldn't be possible.

And yet here he was. Right in front of me. Falling with me.

"L... Leon...?" I managed.

For a long few seconds, time slowed to a crawl as we stared at each other in disbelief. Then something gripped onto me, and hoisted me away from my brother, and I found myself back on the griffin, War's face twisted with an angry snarl as he pulled back up. I looked back at my old friend as he caught himself, hovering in midair as he stared after us, unable to do anything but beat the air with his wings to stay aloft until he slipped out of sight as we flew into another cavern.

Lava boiled beneath us, and swarms of small, batlike demons surrounded us, like a grotesque combination of insect and bat as we flew through, soon accompanied by the larger, bulkier bat demons from before, in the Choking Grounds. Without a second thought, War fired at them, and they fell one after the other. But it was something even larger that made me worry; in size and power, it put the Trauma from before to shame, with a massive, strangely draconic body, curved, jagged horns spiraling from either side of its head, and a pair of massive wings extending from its back. Its thick tail lashed about in the air as it glared at us, its hideous, vaguely humanoid head splitting in a roar as it gathered its power into its claws, then fired, red flame crashing down upon us before War managed to dodge, causing an explosion somewhere behind us. The firefight between them went on for several minutes before finally the demon fell, disintegrating in midair, its souls scattering into the air before they were absorbed into War's gauntlet like all the others.

Finally, we broke free of the cavern, a gigantic, church-like silhouette dominating the horizon. Before that, however, was one last swarm of angels, the one leading them in particular standing out to me.

His armour was white, and like Uriel, he lacked a helmet, several scars across his rage twisted face as he snarled at us, his wild white hair whipping about, a massive cannon aimed at us, "it was your fault!" he shouted, "it was all your fault, Horseman!" spittle frothed forth from his mouth as he began to charge the cannon, "this will end it, and avenge everyone you doomed!"

War merely pulled the trigger on the glaive - only for it to click, signifying its lack of energy. Cursing, the Horseman merely hefted the glaive, and hurled it with all his might. Somehow, some way, the glaive hit its mark, impaling the cannon the angel carried. The angel hovered, shocked, then threw the cannon away with all his might, sending it soaring before it exploded, scattering the angels in the wind and clearing the path to the distant Cathedral.

In the distance, a massive, demonic figure even bigger than the one before shot from the building towards us, smashing into the griffin before we could even react. The two locked each other in midair for a long few seconds, the demon's long, sinewy tail smashing into us and knocking us from the griffin's back before resuming combat with the angelic beast, the two of them flying away in their melee towards the building. I felt War grab onto me, and pull me to his chest, a long few seconds of feeling sicker than ever before passing before all the air was knocked from my lungs as War smashed into the concrete beneath me, cracking it.

Feeling his grip on me release, I stood, taking in our surroundings as I shivered slightly. All around us, a river of lava flowed like the Nile, thicker than molasses and infinitely more deadly, making the Cathedral a single island in the middle of a lake of lava, with no way across besides flying. Behind me, the Cathedral loomed, imposing and bigger than what Samael's vision had made it seem. I swallowed hard as the Watcher revealed himself for the first time in hours, "Tiamat, I assume? Guess she wasn't up to having visitors today."

War merely grunted as he struggled to catch his breath, having brought himself up into a sitting position, obviously having had the wind forced from his lungs. I held my hand out to him, "you alright?"

I found his clawed gauntlet encasing my entire torso as he slammed me into a light post with enough force to put a dent in the metal, the iron fingers securing me in place as he glared at me, speaking through grit teeth, "what. Did I. Tell you. About. The difference. Between. Stupidity. And bravery!?"

"You didn't see him!" I shouted, "he would have killed you! It was either jump or-"

I choked as his massive fist tightened, forcing the breath from my lungs and making my ribs creak, "no excuses!" he barked, "if you EVER do something that stupid again, I won't even bother taking you on!" his breath slowed as his voice grew slightly calmer, "consider this your only warning. Next time, I won't save you. You'll be on your own. Am I understood?"

I felt the pressure decrease enough for me to breath, and I choked on my own breath. Finally, I managed "alright. Got it. Clear."

"So you say," his grip tightened one last time for good measure, then he let go.

I fell to my hands and knees, choking and gasping for breath, before looking back over the events of the flight. Leon was alive. I smirked in spite of myself, shaking my head, "I should have known... I should have known they were alive."

War barely glanced at me, "who are alive?"

"My friends," I managed, massaging my aching chest as I stood, "more like brothers to me than friends, really. You saw them in the EndWar. The two kids with me," I chuckled as he scratched his chin, "if there's one thing we all have in common, it's that we're to stubborn to die. The angel I tackled... that was one of them, Leon. And if Leon's alive, then in all likelihood, so is Cross," I tilted my head upwards as the rain began to fall, "I should have known..."

War nodded, then rolled his shoulders, "alright. First, we'll find shelter so you can get some rest. Then we'll enter the Cathedral."

I glared at him, "I can keep up just fine-"

"Don't. Argue with me, Blake," he cut me off, "you are resilient, but you are still human. And like all other living creatures, humans need respite in order to function properly. Now come on."

He started off towards the edge of the Cathedral, and I followed close behind, silently fuming, but at the same time ready to collapse. I spared one last glance at the Cathedral before running to catch up to War, the rain continuing to fall like a constant drumbeat against the concrete.


	11. Remnants of the Past

I do not own Darksiders.

* * *

BLAKE

I jolted awake, my breath ragged from the nightmares that plagued me every time I closed my eyes. The rain had not ceased for an instant since we had arrived at the Twilight Cathedral, and the constant rolls of thunder seeming to shake the sky. The chill in the air sent thrills of cold up and down my spine as I drew myself into a slight sphere, my legs pressing against my arms as I breathed into my free palm, trying and failing to regain some form of warmth in my body.

I let out a sigh, then felt myself shudder again, though I paid no attention to it before losing myself in thought, wondering if sleep were an option for me at the moment. I gave one final shudder as the flash of false memories came to mind, and I promptly decided against it, almost tempted to bite open my tongue in order to make sure I wouldn't fall back into slumber.

No way I was going back to sleep again. Not any time soon, anyways.

I felt my gaze drift to War. The Horseman was silent as he sat there, leaning against the stone wall of the Cathedral, his eyes closed, his head tilted forwards in slumber, his hands twitching every few seconds, as though actually trying to grip something. Beside him, Chaoseater had dug itself into the concrete, the blade a good foot into the rock, every inch of the sword coated in a veil of water from the falling rain. The blackness that gaped in the eye-sockets in every single grotesque face that decorated the blades seemed to stare - no, seemed to glare at me through the thin mist that hung in the air, nearly making me flinch, nearly forcing my gaze away.

But I didn't look away. On the contrary, I continued to stare at the sword, just stared, and stared, and stared, only pausing for the small fractions of an instant that my eyes required so heavily to blink.

It wasn't until my hand made contact with the cold, jagged hunk of metal that was the sword that I realized I'd stood and moved towards it, that I realized that I'd reached out, as though to grasp its hilt, in spite of the fact that my hand didn't even wrap halfway around the grip.

Nonetheless, the instant my skin reached through the flowing streams to touch the sword, I regretted it; the next thing I knew, I was reeling through scattered images and scenes, some of them filled with the flame of cities under siege, others with battlefields as those who still had the strength to fight charged their foes, trampling the injured and dead of both ally and enemy underfoot, and still more with the raging tides of death as they tore at armies and individuals alike.

No matter what I saw, they always had one thing in common.

The destructive chaos that always accompanied war. Both figuratively, in the act, and literally, in the man that still slumbered beside me.

I cringed, trying to tear myself away, but my body wouldn't move an inch; I couldn't even open my eyes to take in the real world. It was as though the weapon had torn me from reality and hurled me into an ocean of falsehoods, each one so vividly detailed, so terrifying, so _real_...

After what seemed like an eternity, they all blended into one; I stood there, facing off against a literal horde of angels as they swooped down from the golden skies, their armour glinting like blades in the sunlight of a cloudless sky. At their head stood several figures, each of them more imposing than the last until it reached the one I recognized, the man from the EndWar, albeit much younger than when I'd seen him; the angel the others had called Abaddon.

But I wasn't alone either; standing on either side of me were three figures. The first, coated in formfitting steel armour with a cloak the colour of dark wine, and a steel gray mask that only exposed his bright golden eyes and ashen gray hair, an absolutely massive pistol in either one of his hands. The second, a woman with skin the deathly white of sheer nothingness and long hair with a colour that reminded me of congealed blood. Black tattoos arched across whatever skin was exposed by her armour, her left hand curled into a claw, her right coiled around a crackling whip that could only realistically be described as the bastard child of lightning and hellfire, her lovely face twisted in a rather intimidating scowl. The former stood to my right, the latter, to the left of the final figure, the one that stood directly to my own left; his skin was, though not as pale as the woman's, was still the gray that should accompany a corpse that was just on the cusp of beginning the process that was simply known as rot, stretched almost to the point of tearing over his wiry frame. His upper torso was bare, with leather strips covering his forearms in a form of glove that gave the impression that it was made from hastily tanned and torn strips of skin. His orange eyes blazed in the light, his face comprised of somehow handsome, but unnaturally sharp features that lacked all emotion but grim resolve, his hair, black as the abyss and falling across his neck and shoulders in greasy, matted locks. His lower body was covered in only a set of leather pants and boots, the former held in place by a thick belt, and in his lightly trembling hands, a pair of massive scythes arched from his grip, each one exactly like a smaller version of the one War had received from Vulgrim.

I felt myself involuntarily look back, a horde made up of thousands, tens of thousands, possibly even millions of warriors stood, all of them grasping their weapons tightly, shuddering with anticipation. Upon returning my gaze to the front, I saw one final figure; his skin was a deep tan in the blinding light, similar to the one beside me in the fact that the only protection he received came from the armour that adorned his lower body, a pair of blackened iron boots smashing the stone earth apart with every step he took. His greaves and belt were made from the same metal, the same style of patterns adorning the armour as the boots, a ragged loincloth hanging from his waist. His face was set with rugged features that were topped off with eyes of a deep hazel, hair and slight beard of an ashen gray, and a deep golden, jagged crown that adorned his brow. His expression was grim as he finally reached his supposed destination, and looked back at the swarm behind him, giving a slight nod before his expression twisted into a beastial snarl. He turned back to the front, and raised his weapon, a gigantic, jagged axe that glinted in the light like a beacon of victory, and let out a war cry that echoed across the battlefield, shocking me to my core, sending many within the army of angels before him into a cowering panic, and seeming to nearly send every member of the military behind me into a near frenzy.

As the leader's roar ended, each and every member of the nation-sized war band behind me raised their weapons in their own battle cries, and I found myself thrusting my arm skywards, spittle flying from my mouth as I added my own voice, which seemed, in some way or another, off to my own ears, to the declarations of war, the sword in my grip - Chaoseater! - seeming to cry out with me in anticipation for blood.

The next thing I knew, I was charging out towards the phalanx of angels, the three others on either side of me as we chased after our charging leader, our weapons raised.

As the scene began to dim and the first shots and swings echoed, l finally realized what I'd seen.

These were the memories of the Horseman War.

* * *

The next thing I knew, I was flat on my ass again, my head seeming to split itself in two in an almost murderous headache.

I shook my head hard, gripping at the side of my face with a wince, then forced my eyes open. There stood War, his eyes narrowed as he slung Chaoseater over his shoulder.

"I... um... heh..." I gave a failing attempt at an innocent chuckle. When his expression did not change, I felt my head slump forwards, sulking slightly, "I screwed up majorly, didn't I?"

He went into a slight crouch, grabbing me by the arm and hefting me to my feet, "that would depend on what you mean when you use the term."

I sighed, and silence ensued for a long few minutes. War spoke again, his voice virtually devoid of emotion, "to be honest, I'm surprised you were able to last that long, gripping the Chaoseater by the hilt," I glanced up at him, and he once again had the sword in his grip, turning it from side to side as he examined it, "most of its power has been stripped from it, the same way mine have - but no human should simply be able to grasp its hilt. Not without the sheer energy and malice that Chaoseater contains ripping you apart," he spared a glance at me before swinging Chaoseater up onto his back, "tell me, Blake... do you know anything of your ancestry?"

I blinked, then shook my head, "no. Nothing. I never knew my parents, and never really bothered to ask or even try to trace my family history."

He gave a low rumble in his throat, then asked "nothing?"

I nodded, "zip."

More silence as he started forwards out into the street. Working up my courage, I started "I... I think I... Chaoseater..."

He stopped, turning to me again. A few more seconds passed before he motioned for me to continue, and I sighed, finally spitting out "I think it showed me some of your memories."

The only sound was that of the rain pounding down against the concrete for a long few minutes. Finally, War started towards me, kneeling as he reached me to stare me right in the eye. As he spoke, his voice was surprisingly soft, a whisper he was clearly not used to have escape his lips "what did you see?"

I swallowed, then began to describe the visions, starting with the scattered sea of depictions of battle; with every pause I took, he nodded, encouraging me to continue my description. It was when I reached the battle with the angels, with the oceans of warriors to the front and the back that his face began to darken with a mixture of concern, sorrow and rage, his jaw and hands clenched, trembling slightly as he looked away, his breath becoming labored with his anger.

I swallowed again, then asked "that... that battle... the figures beside you... they were the other Horsemen, weren't they?"

He said nothing, merely rising to his feet and turning away. I started after him, "and those people... they were what you were, before you became one of the Horsemen."

Still, he made no response, only picking up his pace so that I had to jog to keep up with him. I continued, "who were they, War? And what happened there?"

Again, nothing.

I cursed, "come on, War, be honest with me here. What happened-"

"ENOUGH!"

His abrupt shout startled me to the point where it nearly knocked me off my feet. I stumbled, almost falling on my ass again before steadying myself again. As I turned back to War, I found the Horseman standing over me, his hand brought to his side, as though prepared to backhand me across the concrete, his face twisted in a snarl that would put any demon to shame, his breath erratic. I raised my arms in a useless defence, waiting for the blow.

His harsh breathing continued as I waited, then slowly, oh, so slowly began to revert to its original state. I risked a glance past my arms, watched him turn away, attempting to calm himself. Finally, he turned back to me, his face grim, his breathing still harsh, though deeper, not as quick. I could have sworn that I saw him blink away the remnants of tears from his eyes, and he finally stated, "it's something you aren't ready to know."

He once again turned away, and stalked off into the rain. Only a few seconds of hesitation passed before I followed, my own hands clenched into fists as they burned with resolve.


	12. NOTICE 1

I do not own Darksiders.

* * *

NOTICE

Alright, I know that this isn't an actual chapter of the story, please do not try to murder me. I just thought that before I got started on the next one, I may as well get some key points to this story out of the way for future reference.

The main thing... you remember how I said I'd be trying to keep this story as close to the game as possible back in the first or second chapter? Guess what? I lied. Due to some misunderstandings/misinterpretations of canon that I made before I got Darksiders II, I made some plans that are so far away from canon that it's not even funny anymore. Don't worry, it's well thought out, with as many loopholes as possible eliminated, but please note that as of right now, due to pre-planning that a) I love too much to change and b) even if I didn't love it would be too lazy to change, a lot of Darksiders canon concerning the history of the Nephilim in this story has officially been screwed to hell. Or, if you prefer, fixed from how badly you think canon screwed it up. Either way, expect major changes concerning their history that is going to make things all the more painful for the Horsemen in every possible way.

Second canon screw up is Samael; while what I have is purely speculation at this point, as none of Samael's history has been made clear, I am all but certain what I have is not going to be correct at all. Also, I have said that he is the Dark Prince in this, pretty much overriding Lucifer in my story due to yet more oversights and lack of research on my part. I am still up to debate as to whether or not to correct this, so as such I will put up a poll as to whether or not you want me to attempt to repair this. The final decision will be mine, but you guys have a lot of say here, so please, give me your opinion on this. If I wind up NOT fixing this, Lucifer will still have a place in the story, but rather than showing up, he will be someone with major influence who was killed long before Samael came into the picture.

Third thing: while I am aware that I came up with my OC, the archangel Gabriel, a long time ago, I have no idea what they are going to do with him in canon. Therefore, for those of you reading this in the future; if Gabriel HAS shown up in the Darksiders series, disregard EVERYTHING you know about him for this story. If you do not, I can assure you that you will be immensely confused.

Issue number four: I have been planning things out for some time now, and would like to make an announcement that a fellow author of mine is involved in the creation of this story, and therefore has granted me full use of her own Darksiders OC's in my story, as she has been given permission to use my own OC's in her stories. My fellow author in this is WindGoddess Rune. Just thought I'd let you know.

Final thing: If you have any suggestions, go ahead and shout them out. I make no promises as to what I will and will not do, but I will take everything you guys say into account.

That's pretty much it for now. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.

With regards

Jarl of the North


	13. Council of the Damned

I do not own Darksiders. Nor do I own Dan Vs., or several of the OC's that appear in this chapter; belonging to WindGoddess Rune are Rhaimon and Serilda. In conjunction, we both own Helia. BTW, Grauschimmel means 'Gray' in German.

* * *

THE GENERAL

I let out a mental groan as I stepped through the great black doors and into the stifling tension of the Great Hall, the meeting place of the Destoyer's Spire. Great pillars of magma illuminated the otherwise gloomy interior, which consisted of a massive, circular room that was dominated by a U-shaped stone table that spread in a nearly complete circle throughout the room upon an elevated section of the room, a small flight of steps on either side of me. Sitting at their respective places around the table, some eating, others simply sitting, were the current Demon Lords of the realm; and at the head of the table, shrouded by shadow, sat the silhouetted form of the Destroyer, his single eye blazing in the dark.

"You're late," he stated, his hands folded on the table, twitching slightly.

I bowed in return, "apologies, milord. I was delayed by the most recent reports on the Horseman's whereabouts."

There was a slight chuckle from the left side of the table, and I felt my eyes narrow into a glare as a new voice, thick and sultry, wafted through the air like a constricting fume, "the Horseman, general? Do you honestly intend to attempt to scare us with rumors and children's stories?" another chuckle left me resisting the urge to wretch, "how sad. Are you truly that foolish, that you think such a prank would honestly come to fruition? Or are you that desperate for attention?"

I drew myself back to my full height, my eyes narrowed as I stared in the direction of the offender. Dressed in crimson silks that did little to preserve her modesty, the woman was physically astoundingly beautiful, a fact even I had to admit. Her face, had it not been painted with a cruel smirk and a condescending gaze, was something to make the bones of long dead men ache; her figure, carved to perfection, was something artists would kill again and again - and had done so, on more than one occasion - to simply depict, let alone have for themselves. Her hair was a waterfall of starless night, tumbling across flawless tanned skin, and a golden wine goblet sat firmly in her hand, staining her crimson lips with an even darker red for an instant before she licked the drink away. Her eyes, however, depicted a cruelty that the rest of her body did not suggest; the brutality of the being her body hid from Creation.

"I would not jump to such conclusions if I were you, whore," I stated, as rationally and calmly as I could, "and if it were attention I wanted, I would not have refused the offer to become one of the Chosen. That aside, I am not lying; the Horseman War walks the earth. And, if he is truly the one who has opened Samael's prison, then the Chosen are in all likelihood his current targets. Which means you, Babylon," I glared at her, a slight smirk betraying my smugness, "should be particularly worried."

She gave a light scoff through her teeth, opening her mouth to retort - only for the Destroyer to cut her off.

"Enough," while his voice was comparatively calm, the word still plunged the entire room into silence, "if you would please save your petty quarrels for _after_ you have left the Spire, it would be greatly appreciated."

While his glare swept throughout the entire room, I knew that the main focus of the words were me and the most recent member of the Chosen; the Great Whore, Babylon. I clicked my teeth, then bowed again, "apologies."

The Lord gave a dismissive wave, "take your place among the other Demon Lords. Then this meeting can begin."

Without another word, I made my way up the steps to my right, taking my seat near the middle, directly to the left of Judas. Making a quick scan of the room, I noted each separate Demon Lord and general present. The Great Whore Babylon; a spider familiar, no doubt sent from the Iron Canopy by Silitha; a demon that I recognized to be Straga's current favorite among his generals; another familiar, a large duskwing, sent by Tiamat.

I snorted mentally, shaking my head. The Chosen did send messengers, but aside from Babylon, they rarely showed up at these meetings themselves. On the other hand, a third of them were little more than animals; the Griever and Stygian relied on little more than instinct, no better than Traumas or Hellions.

I gave my head another quick shake, then continued down the line. While there were one or two new faces since the death of Belial, they didn't pose enough of a threat for me to take note of them; however, there were more than a few familiar faces.

The first of which belonged to another rather sultry woman, sitting there scanning the rest of the room, her bat-like wings, twisted so that they hung upside down on her back, giving the occasional twitch as her vibrant green eyes locked with each person, her face, seemingly carved from marble, displaying no emotion. Her skin was fair, interrupted only by the ripple of light red crimson where her scales wove their way across her body. Dark hair that wasn't quite black hung across her shoulders and fell down her back, draped over her horns in intricate braids, and her tail, anywhere between six and eight feet long, was entirely covered in scales, tipped with an oddly shaped stinger, a unique trait among her kind as a succubus. Dressed in a similar fashion to Babylon, what clothing she wore was either scant or skintight, leaving so little to the imagination that she could drive most men to madness if she wanted to. Demon Lord of the Blood Isles and one of the few who could be considered by Lilith to be a threat; Serilda.

The second was one that always gave the chills whenever we were even in the same room. Dressed in something you'd expect from the Victorian era, the man was tall, leaning back in his chair and sipping at the glass goblet he held in his hand. Messy hair the colour of his sin-stained soul hung down from his head at a moderate length, his lip curled upwards in a small smirk that gave off the impression that he always knew more than what he let on. His skin was so pale that it nearly resembled polished marble, and his crimson eyes glowed in the darkness, his smirk widening into a grin as his gaze locked with my own, sending a thrill of something close to fear down my spine. White gloves, etched with pentagrams of magics not even the most depraved creatures of the Abyss would so much as attempt, adorned his hands, one of which was crossed over his chest. Occasionally, he reached down to pet the black shadowy mass that was easily twice his size that lay on the floor by his chair, and over top of his black suit, a bloody crimson coat hung down past his knees. Vladimir Dracula III. The Impaler, Demon Lord of the Forest of Corpses, with dominion over all vampiric creatures as the undisputed Nosferatu, and one of the few who dabbled with humanity before their extinction, earning him uncounted servants, making him easily among the most dangerous - and most feared - Demon Lords present.

The third sat silently, her eyes closed, her hands hidden beneath the folds of her heavy robes. Unlike those before her, she seemed almost entirely human, only a select few features betraying her demonic nature, and even those passable as a simple change in style or genetics. Her hair was almost entirely a brilliant snow white, streaks of black and crimson flaked throughout and tied behind her head in pony tail by an intricate hair ornament that resembled a set of claws more than anything else, and what was visible of her skin was albino white. Her robes were thick and heavy, completely covering her frame, but what skin was visible aside from her face was covered in black and red tattoos - sigils intended to enhance her power. Likewise, her robes, a shade of red wine so strong that they almost seemed liquid, were coated in black and crimson etchings similar to that of her skin, the latter of each pulsing, glowing brightly before fading in time with each of her breaths - a sign she was keeping her massive power in check, as to not literally crush the lesser demons that were present. The Demon Lord of the Dragon Tower, Helia, or as the humans used to call her, Hecate - the only demon in all of history to have mastered all the paths of the dark magics, from divination to conjuration to destruction, surpassed only by Lilith, Samael, and currently, the Destroyer. She governs over the Dragon Tower, the greatest natural source of magical energies such as mana, with an iron fist. Currently, it is one of the few places where one has the true opportunity to learn the dark magics, and one of the few places in Hell to have true order under her rule. She apparently also took the occasional human on as an apprentice, when the mood struck her before the EndWar - while most didn't advance beyond the most basic spells, the ones that she truly took the time to teach beyond the rank of a fifth-rate demonic magus became some of the most feared individuals in the Dark Kingdom.

The last one, on the other hand, appeared to be completely asleep, his hands behind his head and acting as a pillow, his feet up on the table, though there was no real way to be certain unless you wished to risk waking him up, and in doing so, risk being brutally crippled. His steel gray hair was cut relatively short, leaving enough length for it to be tousled by the wind, if there were any, and his tanned skin was littered with battle scars. His clothes were faintly reminiscent of several cultures, from the katana at his waist to the camouflage pants, from the heavy black combat boots to the massive black greatcoat on his shoulders to the golden chain around his neck. Demon Lord Grauschimmel, the White Worg; easily the one that I knew the least about out of everyone here, aside from the Destroyer. Nonetheless, I knew from experience that he was three times as strong as he was paranoid.

I was snapped out of my trance by the sounds of flaring flame, and the Destroyer's voice once again echoed through the room, "now... let us begin," he gestured towards me, "general, begin with what you know of the Horseman."

"With pleasure," I stood from my seat. Taking a quick glance around to ensure I had everyone's attention, I proceeded, "as you probably all know already, the Horseman War is believed to be the one responsible for the early start of the EndWar, as he is the only one of the Four who was present at the time. Supposedly, he'd been killed by Straga not long after arriving. However, more recent events have proven Straga's efforts to have been futile, leading me to believe he is either arrogant, stupid, untrustworthy, or some combination thereof, all of which could be very possible with him and are not beneficial to the dynasty."

The general that had arrived in Straga's place visibly twitched, his hand drifting slightly towards his weapon. I paused for an instant to give him a warning glare, then continued, "however, my judgements on Straga are neither here nor there. The point is, either he failed... or War has been brought back to life."

A slight murmur rang through the chamber as the demons began to converse with themselves. I paid no heed, only responding when Serilda stood, her posture graceful, her voice melodic, "general, with all due respect, you are yet to present us with evidence that he has truly returned."

"Indeed," another nameless Lord scratched at his chin, causing a boil on his skin to burst, though he paid it no attention, "what proof do you have that the Horseman has returned to the Earth? And if so, then what does he seek?"

I smirked as the room fell silent again, the spotlight once more shining upon me, "I have several pieces of evidence," I raised my left hand, an orb of flame forming within it before I tossed it into the center of the room. Upon hitting the floor, the fire expanded outwards in a large circle of burning runes, a black pit gaping in the center, "what you are about to see has been in no way tampered with. You are seeing these events as my soldiers and scouts have seen for themselves."

Within the blackness, shadows began to flicker, before exploding into colour; within, showed the slaughter of the demons at the Crossroads; the death of the Phantom General, Straga's previous favorite, the current one flinching with every blow that the demon took before finally dying upon his own axe. Then what was shown the release of Samael from his prison; followed quickly by the massacre within the Choking Grounds, finally ending with his battle with Wicked K before returning to the blackness.

I felt my smirk widen, "as you can see, the Horseman has indeed returned. He has already butchered a sizable portion of our forces, given what he's faced thus far. He has released Samael from his prison in the Scalding Gallow, and if their conversation means anything, it has led me to believe his targets are the Chosen. As for his goals... while I myself know little about the Horsemen, I know enough to tell that this particular one doesn't need any reason aside from vengeance to begin his own full-scale assault on Hell."

The entire room remained silent, either stunned, or, in Vladimir's case, amused, "an impressive display of power," he mused, lowering his feet from the table to give himself a better vantage point as the images began to replay themselves, "it's no wonder the Horsemen are so feared throughout the realms. However... I cannot help but notice that he lacks a horse. So far, he's hardly living up to his name."

"I was just getting to that," I forced myself to turn my attention to him, ignoring the shudder that ran up and down my spine as his eyes locked with mine, "the Horseman appears to have been stripped of most of his power, and his horse in turn has indeed been taken from his possession. Where it is now, I cannot say, but I can confirm that in spite of his lack of power, he is still strong, strong enough to overpower my right hand man, Wicked K."

There was a derisive snort from another Lord, "a Wicked? Truly, general? You expected a Wicked to defeat a Horseman?"

I opened my mouth to respond when Helia stood, her eyes opening to reveal bright orange irises, reminiscent of pools of molten magma, "Asmodeus, the Wicked the general speaks of was once the master of the Crucible. Even in his current state, with his powers sealed in his service to the dynasty, he is stronger than what your strained little mind could so much as hope to comprehend," she regarded him coldly, then sighed, sitting back down, rubbing at her forehead, "but what was I expecting from a nit-witted Imp demon like yourself? Cowardly, and not even that strong as a demon... if I didn't know better, your making as a Lord was an act of pity on the Damned Council's part, rather than an act of sheer boredom."

I nodded to her, grateful as the comparatively miniscule demon beside her began to fume, "thank you, Helia, for clarifying that. And for bringing up another matter I wish to address the Destroyer with personally," I turned to the shrouded figure, who had remained silent throughout the entire meeting, "when I sent Wicked K, we found his power to be insufficient in dealing with the Horseman. We cannot write this off as luck. Such an act would be a grave miscalculation, especially so early in the game," I bowed, "as such, I ask permission to break the first of Wicked K's Crucifixion seals, to allow him power enough to fight the Horseman."

There was a long moment of silence before he spoke, "what you're asking, general, is a great risk that I am not yet sure I wish to take. While I trust you when you say his loyalty lies in favor of the dynasty, breaking even one of his seals unleashes a great amount of his power, and loosens whatever fixtures we may have on his loyalty."

I was about to argue when he raised a hand, cutting me off, "I am not yet denying your request; I simply do not wish to deal with it as of this moment. Now... where has the Horseman gotten off to?"

A new voice, a harsh mixture of falling gravel and cracking flame, echoed through the room, making everyone turn towards Tiamat's familiar, "he is in my realm. He has reached the Cathedral, and appears to have an accomplice with him - a young human, of all things."

Another silence fell through the room, followed by another chuckle, "I must get back to my realm for the moment. It appears a rather stubborn Ortho simply does not know when it should simply give up."

With that, the voice faded, and the duskwing detached from its place on the ceiling, fluttering off with a loud shriek.

"I hate bats," I hissed, raising my hand, "all in favor of incinerating Tiamat's familiar the next time she cuts out in the middle of a meeting, say aye."

"Aye," as nearly everyone agreed in a perfect chorus of utter deadpan, almost every hand in the room went up, save the Destroyer, Silitha's familiar (which lacked arms and was struggling to raise its skinny foreleg into the air), and the humanoid figure that sat directly to the Destroyer's left.

I sighed, rolling my eyes slightly as I finally registered her. The Destroyer's bride had been silent the entire exchange, constantly stealing nervous, clearly threatened glances at the more powerful Demon Lords in the room, Babylon in particular, who constantly returned these glances with an ever more satisfied smirk. Rhaimon, unlike every other being in this room, was only half demon; a half-bred creature, spawned from a mix of human and demonic blood that, were it not for the Destroyer's interest in her as a bride, would not have lasted long in the dynasty. Compared to me, she was significantly taller than I was in my current, human-like state; compared to most other demons, however, she was positively tiny, a runt at best. Her hair was a rich, dark brown in colour, her skin slightly tanned from the sun and littered with tattoos that seemed to resemble, of all things, roses. Her clothing was rather simple (something that constantly caught me off guard, considering her position), and her stomach was swollen with pregnancy. For better or for worse, this woman would bear the Destroyer's child and heir.

The Destroyer once again cleared his throat, "general, if you are finished mocking the members of my inner circle," I could almost feel the heat from his single eye boring into me, "then we will continue without interruption."

"Sir," I acknowledged.

"Well... this certainly seems interesting," Babylon leaned forwards slightly, setting her goblet down as she studied the images in the pool of black, "a human boy..."

I could already tell what she was thinking from the look on her face. Thankfully, Judas stood to rebuke her, "with all due respect, Lady Babylon, I must insist that the boy be eliminated rather than captured. Even if he is simply a child, any and all remaining members of the Third Kingdom stand as threats to the dynasty. Even if they are within Babylon's custody as her... _guests_," his voice cracked slightly, betraying his utter disgust for what the demon he referred to used whatever humans she captured for.

She giggled sensually, shifting in her seat as though something were squirming in her clothing, "aww... you aren't jealous of them, are you Judas?"

His visible eye twitched, and his voice lowered to a steady hiss, "hardly. Considering your treatment of them, I rather pity them... chained as slaves the Great Whore. To you, they are little more than toys."

Her giggle rose to a laugh as she stood, "I won't deny that. But no matter how much they struggle... some primal piece of them always, _always _enjoys it."

While his face held no emotion as Babylon grinned, Judas' fists began to shake by his sides, the nails cutting open the flesh, though no blood seeped from the wounds. I reached up, gripping his shoulder, and he snapped back into place, his posture relaxing, his hands opening again.

"Babylon," the overlord called, catching the woman's attention, "Judas is completely correct. No matter how you may... contain your prisoners, there is still a chance they could prove a threat in the future. Considering your methods of breaking them in, we can all agree on the moot point that it is highly unlikely... however, at this point, risks of any sort cannot be taken. While I will allow you to keep your current prisoners, I cannot allow this new child to simply roam free. Any chance that any of you may come across to eliminate him," he paused for an instant, "_must_ be taken. No excuses. No exceptions. Am I understood?"

No one in the room made a move to interject or decline, though Babylon looked particularly disappointed. Finally, Helia spoke, "and if we find a way to turn his allegiance to the dynasty?"

"Unlikely."

Everyone nearly leaped from their seats from the jolt they recieved, startled at the sound of the new voice. Thick with a heavy German accent, this voice was deep, intimidating, and above all, powerful.

It took me an instant to pinpoint the source. When I did, I couldn't help but stare; normally, Grauschimmel remained completely silent throughout these meetings, either asleep or completely indifferent to the conversation. He continued, "highly unlikely. While I do understand your reasoning and methods, lady Helia, I must interject," he sighed, rubbing at his forehead, his dark green eyes nearly glowing in the darkness, "while a few here have interacted with humans before the EndWar on some level, only one of us has ever actually walked among them."

Vladimir raised an eyebrow, "yourself?"

The White Worg gave a brief nod in the Nosferatu's direction, "correct, Vladimir. While I can say that humans were and are still weak and foolish creatures, I can also say that they are impossibly stubborn when they wish to be. There were even some that, when enraged, would be willing to tear down the sky for a chance at vengeance," his frozen stare swept the room, sending chills down nearly everyone's spines, "even if they are weak, there is little more terrifying than the look of a being so determined to kill you, you can taste their wish to do so on the air," he pointed into the tide of black, where it showed the human, "this boy... while it isn't complete, he is damn close to having that look himself. Whom he wishes to kill, I can only guess at. However," he looked back up at Helia, his face grim, "no matter your methods, you will have a difficult time convincing him to change his loyalties. That goes for all of you," he leaned back in his chair again, "if I were you, I would seriously consider trying to wipe the boy out as soon as possible."

Asmodeus scoffed again, standing up on the table, attempting to be imposing with his total height of three feet, his twisted wings spread wide, "you, the White Worg, honestly believe that boy poses that much of a threat?"

Grauschimmel was silent for a moment. Then he lazily turned his deadpan gaze upon the imp, who suddenly seemed a lot smaller than before, taking several steps back from where he stood, raising an arm as though to defend himself. The werecreature smirked, then stated, "yes, imp. I do."

And with that, he folded his hands behind his head again, and closed his eyes once more.

The Destroyer grunted, "thus, my order stands. Eliminate the boy as soon as possible."

Everyone nodded in acknowledgement, unwilling to argue against either the Dark One or the White Lord at this point.

"And the Horseman?" Vladimir asked, his lazy smile returning.

"Think of this as a test for Tiamat," the shadowed being's grin was blatant in his voice, "if she manages to kill him, good for her. If not, we will intercept the Horseman while he returns to the Scalding Gallow to deliver the heart to Samael."

"And Samael himself?" Serilda ventured.

The Destroyer shook his head, "at this point, we will have to recapture him later. Since he was freed of his prison, he can go wherever he pleases; while I am certain he will show up again, where and when is a question I cannot answer unless he and the Horseman are using the Gallow as a rendezvous point for where Samael will receive the hearts. But taking on one is risky; fighting both Samael and the Horseman together, no matter how much of their power they have lost, is a suicide mission. I will not risk soldiers on a hopeless cause; Samael will have to wait."

The Destroyer glanced about, "while I do expect effort on all of your parts to bring the Horseman and his accomplice down," he stated, "I will be putting my most trusted general in charge of eliminating their threat," he turned to me, "you may use any of the dynasty's resources to do so. My entire army, from every commander to every scout, is at your command," though it wasn't visible in the darkness, I could tell he was grinning, "I look forwards to seeing the results... Demon Lord Cross."

I nodded in acknowledgement, barely able to contain my exhilaration. This was a far larger payoff than what I'd even dared to hope for, "I'm flattered that you have that much trust in me, milord," I bowed, "I will not fail you."

"Milord, you cannot possibly be putting that... that _newborn_ in command of the dynasty!"

I turned an eye to another Demon Lord, who shook with rage as his glare went from the Destroyer, to me, and back to our lord again, "he is barely more than a century old-"

"And in that century has proven to be of more use to Hell than you have in a full millennium, Nazir," the Dark One stated coldly, cutting off the foolish demon, "if you truly question my judgement... then why don't you prove how useful your council is?"

Nazir shook with rage for an instant, before hurling something at me. I took the object in the face without so much as flinching, not so much as blinking at the uncomfortable feeling of the object gouging its way through my skull.

"You see!? He couldn't even-"

Before he could finish, I reached up, and yanked the object from my head, looking it over. It was a long knife of demonic make, the edge superheated by magic, with a serrated section near the top. Even as my head restored itself to its original form, I continued looking over the knife, "interesting... a decent weapon, when used right. But you obviously don't know how to throw a knife," I tossed the weapon in the air absentmindedly before catching it again, smirking at the horrified look on the demon's face, "allow me to demonstrate how to actually use a throwing weapon."

With that, I lashed out, the knife sailing across the room in less than an instant and decapitating the foolish demon who thought he could threaten me, who thought he could so much as degrade me with such a simple tool. With a wet splatter, the body hit the floor, followed soon by the head, which cracked open like a rotting watermelon as it hit the stone. Clearly amused by the display, the Destroyer chuckled, "are there any other objections?"

No one spoke, or so much as raised their hands in protest.

The overlord nodded, "in which case, that is all. This meeting is dismi-"

He was cut off by the sound of something hitting the ground. Glancing in the direction of the noise, my gaze landed on a small, brown package that looked like it had been hastily wrapped.

"What the-"

Asmodeus' voice was cut short as the package exploded in a cloud of sickening green gas, filling the room with noxious fumes that tore at my nostrils with horrific force, the stench almost unbearable. I choked, sinking to my knees, my eyes watering, and heard a distinct voice, laughing in tune with the footsteps that carried it away, "hahahaha! Serves you filthy demons right!"

With that, I stood, taking in the states of the others. Most of the other Demon Lords were on their knees, hacking uncontrollably as they tried to clear their lungs of the fumes; Grauschimmel was out cold, his eyes rolling back into his head from the sheer stench; Vladimir was attempting to breathe through his coat to filter out the stench; even the Destroyer himself did not escape unscathed, his hand over his mouth as he attempted to burn away at the gas around him, to keep Rhaimon unaffected by the stench.

I immediately knew who the perpetrator was. That scummy little human and his friends we had allowed to live on behalf of the cat Demon Lord Katrika, against our better judgement, as two of the Black Spire's caretakers, and a spy for the Destroyer... even extending their life spans at her request, unaware, at the time, of the horrors that would befall us...

All of us were shaking with uncontrollable rage as the fumes began to dissipate. And all at once, everyone in the room screamed in unison.

"DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNN!"


End file.
